


Finding Home

by VioletIris



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anders (Dragon Age) Positive, Angst, Assaulter gets Hulk smashed, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Geeky References, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Fenris, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-07-24 12:01:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 66,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16174670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletIris/pseuds/VioletIris
Summary: Hi, I'm Mel, an average 20-something college student making ends meet by slinging drinks for drunks who won't remember my name in the morning and waiting tables for commuters who could never be bothered to learn it in the first place. I wish I could forget about me just as easily, but the demons from my childhood stretch far. Literally, right into another world, Thedas, where I've woken up with no memory of how I got here. All I know is I've fallen in with the most colorful group of people I've ever met, who not only believe my story, but swear to help me get home. Even though death beckons around every corner in Kirkwall, three men make me feel seen in a way nobody ever has, and if I let them in, I don't know how I'll let them go.





	1. Chapter 1

   My definition of a rude awakening is the alarm on my phone blaring its death siren—hurry, quick, before the seal doors drop and you’re trapped in the other room to either burn, drown or get jettisoned into space in classic Hollywood style—not being dragged by my hair.

   When my eyes jolted open, a ceiling of rock greeted me. The air tasted so foul I would have heaved if I wasn’t severely distracted by the sharp pain emanating from my scalp. My arms must have fallen asleep because a thousand pinpricks danced under my skin like static, making my first attempt to paw at whatever was tugging at me a flopping failure.

   I twisted around, palms braced on ground covered in refuse, and then looked straight into the eyes of a squalid man whose jaw dropped to reveal a row of broken teeth. We both shrieked and jerked back—fortunately he had dropped his hold on my hair or I’d fear a bald spot the size of a baseball on the top of my head.

    “Whatcha yammering fer?” a voice called from around the rocky bend. “Find yeself a spidey instead of a shiny?”

   My assailant just kept staring at me. “You’re not dead,” he said to himself, dirt smeared face scrunched up. Then to me, in an accusatory tone, he said: “You should be dead.”

   What I should be is waking up in my own bed and contemplating the day ahead, not having my supposed corpse abducted. Maybe I was still asleep and this was just one of those stress dreams I get before my alarm goes off. But my scalp still throbbed where my hair had been pulled. I nervously swallowed and scrambled up.

   The movement set off him off. He began rocking back and forth, “You should be dead. You should be dead. You should be dead!”

   I started to back away, hands held up to show I meant no harm even though a moment ago it was me getting lugged around like a—

   Wait, was that blood on my hands? The spot I had been dragged from was smeared with blood, and as I looked down, saw my shirt dyed with it. Was it my blood? Someone else’s? The coppery tang hit my senses, making me dizzy. Tottering, I put a hand to the alleyway wall to steady myself.

   That felt real. The smell of blood, of waste in the alleyway and my own body odor smelled real. The chanting from the man rising like scales on a piano sounded real. The thud of a sack being dumped was real, too.

   We both looked up to the man who had yelled to him from around the corner. The lip of his sack slumped, revealing an odd assortment of items. Scavengers, my brain supplied, as if having a term would somehow prove useful to me in this insane situation. None of this made any sense, and I desperately wanted it to, for I could begin to feel my own panic begin to flutter in my chest. My previous waking hours were completely blank.

   This brawny man, who had just been wearing a yellow-toothed smirk at his finds, paled. The chanter pointed at me. “Dead,” he said as if he had reached some important conclusion.

   The other spat and then his hand fell to his dagger. “We got ourselves a walker. Fer now. Tell the boys. There may be more of ‘em.”

   The chanter darted up so fast I barely caught the movement and was away screaming at the top of his lungs something about “walking corpses.” The other man drew his blade, crouching into a fighter’s stance.

   Even if this was only a nightmare, I had no intention of becoming a life-sized pin cushion. I did the only logical thing when confronted with an absolutely bat-shit-crazy situation: I ran the other way.

   Out of the alley I was in a more open area but still underground. My heartbeat sounded too loud in my ears, but the chanter’s cries still echoed to me as well as other voices in the distance taking up his cry. I couldn’t tell if the armed man was pursuing but I wasn’t about to stop to find out. I didn’t know which way to go so I just tore down the main thoroughfare.

   Was that a mining cart and tracks I just passed? And a pulley? Where the hell was I?

   I skidded to a stop at an opening that let in natural light and gaped at the endless water. Ocean. That was definitely the ocean. The sea breeze and squawking gulls confirmed the impossible. For the past couple years, I had lived a land locked life in the middle of the U.S. There was no way I could simply wake up thousands of miles away from home without knowing. Unless I really was still dreaming. I pinched myself hard enough to bruise, wincing. This had to be real. The panic unfurled its wings within my chest, preparing for flight.

   In the distance, I spotted ship masts. Not the kind on sailboats but the kind you see in pictures at maritime history museums. East or West Coast—I’d lived on both—nobody sailed around in ships like that nowadays. Nobody.

   Mad. I was going mad. Just like my mother. The urge to laugh bubbled up in me, panic and fear morphing into hysteria, as if wishing to give a public confirmation of my madness. That thought alone stifled it, bringing me back to myself. The real madman was behind me.

   I had only a moment’s notice. I heard the footsteps, wheeled around and only got nicked on my arm by the incoming blade.

   “Back to the Void!” the man shouted his battle cry and circled me, looking to make a lethal strike.

   “Wait, I’m alive! Very much alive!” I staggered back, clutching my injured arm though my body was humming so loudly with energy I felt no pain, just the blood wetting my hand. Belatedly, I realized I had been pinned between the perilous drop of the opening over the ocean and the armed maniac.

_Good going, Mel._

   The man looked startled by my ability to speak, though he really shouldn’t be. He and the other guy had been acting like I was some kind of zombie, which despite being clearly impossible, in what zombie flick do zombies ever run away from the living, let alone scream in coherent sentences?   

   Fortunately, my words persuaded him that I was not a zombie in need of slaying. Unfortunately, my words also persuaded him that I was something called a “blood mage” in need of slaying.

   I like to think that when he lunged at me again, the self-defense course I took at my freshmen orientation kicked in. How did it go? Oh, it was something like: one, scream bloody murder; two, run to safety; and three, if escape is initially impossible, fight just enough so you can run.

   Even if I didn’t have a thing for heights, which I did, and even if I wasn’t so high up that jumping might be the equivalent of leaping out of a 10 story building onto cement, which I certainly was, I definitely had a thing for bodies of water larger than a dinner glass—an acute fear that made being impaled by the madman’s blade seem a modicum better than being immersed in cold, dark water. Jumping was definitely out of the question.  

   So I screamed and ducked his swinging arm as I tried to get around him. His free hand snagged my shirt and hauled me backwards so hard my face disappeared from the shirt being tugged over my head. I rolled with it, losing my shirt James T. Kirk style, but unlike the Starfleet captain, I had no defined abs to show off, only sun-shy skin.

   The man stood there, clutching my long sleeved shirt and searching for the woman within. It was all I needed. I made a dash towards his open side. Arms pumping at my sides, chin tucked low, I knew I had evaded him for the moment being. I was going to make it.

   Then a pain burst in my body. I staggered for a moment then crumpled. Stunned, my hands patted my body, finding the knife sticking from my thigh. I nearly passed out from the pain when I nudged it, my brain finally catching up. When I pulled back, my hands were covered in far too much blood. The dark underground spun, growing even dimmer. Voices and footsteps echoed in the distance. His reinforcements no doubt.

   I clawed forward. The man’s shadow loomed over me, reaching. I threw a fistful of sand and gravel into his face as I lurched to my feet, barely feeling the injured one beneath me. He hissed and then seized me by the neck, slamming me back to the ground, knocking whatever remaining breathe out. There was twinge, another pain blooming, this time in my shoulder.

   Flashes of another set of hands around my throat came back to me, and if I could scream I would have. My hands flailed, nails clawing in the air inches from his face, my one good leg trying to become unpinned by his body so I could knee his groin. But I was fading fast. The world continued to darken. Tears leaked from my eyes as my mouth contorted, seeking air.

   I refused to die like this. Refused. A slow build up of energy flash-flooded my veins. A spark of white fire leaped between us, and I could smell the sudden scent of sulfur and burnt flesh. The man fell back on his knees, cradling his hands to his chest in agony as his eyes mirrored my disbelief.

   It was the last look those eyes would ever wear because a giant sword swooped down and neatly severed his head from his body. The world narrowed, the sound of battle cries and the ring of metal on metal strangely muffled. The last thing I remembered before crumpling was blue light encompassing me, smelling like the outdoors after a storm.

 

 

 

   When you close your eyes, you can be anywhere. My mind always goes to the little cottage by the water.  

   Waves teasing the shore. Sunlight a square patch on the floor. The breeze scented with wildflowers and the musk of mud. An unlit hearth with baubles on the mantle. Dried herbs hung in clusters from the ceiling. Mom holding me in her lap as she laughed at something a tall man said–maybe my dad, though I can’t be sure, and the features of his face and sound of his voice is a blur–tatters of dreams.

   I had to have been no more than three when we left. I don’t know why we did, and when I was old enough to ask, mom just stared at me, then through me. I knew she was back at that place. I learned not to ask, not when the memory elicited such polarized emotions.

   Mom and I moved over a dozen times, but despite the brief time we spent there, I fondly remembered the little cottage. I always thought of it as a happy place. Whenever she suddenly had us packing our bags to move again, and I would be failing to fall asleep in a new bed, more often than not the floor of our latest dismal apartment, I’d shut my eyes and pretend I was at the cottage. I would be there in my dreams right before I woke, the sun from the window softly snuggling me, my mom in one of her rare singing moods, hot breakfast wafting on the air.

   The mirage of the cottage popped like a soap bubble when several voices intruded into my fantasy. I tried to pull the edges of the dreams back–there was the cottage, then something about the ocean–but all I found was the scratchy reality of a musty wool blanket. I blinked a couple times, the light too much for my eyes, which didn’t help with my disorientation.

   The voices rose from behind me where I laid on my side. I held my breath. They were right in the room with me and they definitively didn’t belong to my roommates.

   “Fasta vass! It’s been two days already. Wake her now, mage. We will have answers,” a deep voice growled.

   The sound of it sent a shiver of awareness through me. I would have been intrigued to pair a face with that distinctive voice if its owner didn’t sound so angry and said anger didn’t seem directed at me. It suddenly seemed a prudent course of action to pretend I was still asleep. I smoothed any expression on my face and tried to even my breathing.

   “It’s been two days because she nearly died twice over,” a second voice bit back. “That stab wound alone would have bled her out without intervention and that brute almost strangled the life out of her. Oh yes, and then there’s the fractured collarbone, the slice on her arm, and a collage of scrapes and bruises. She needs to heal which means she needs to be able to rest in peace. If you can’t contain yourself, you need to leave my clinic. Now.”

   As the man cataloged my injuries, I became aware of the way my body ached. When I shifted, a twinge sparked up my neck, and I barely stifled a gasp. What happened? Did I get into some kind of accident?

   “You think I would just let a blood mage loose in Kirkwall unmonitored?” the deep voice countered. I could tell from the way his voice raised and lowered in volume as he spoke that he was pacing the room.

   “Well, you let me wander Kirkwall by myself all the time, though I wouldn’t mind the company,” a female voice jumped in, her chipper tone completely at odds with the other two’s. “I do get lost sometimes so it’s always helpful to have someone else to show me the way. Once, I popped right out the front of the cobbler’s stall in Hightown when I started in the alienage. It took me the rest of the day to find my way back.”

   “Daisy…” a fourth voice said. “I don’t think that’s what Broody meant.”

   The second voice sighed. “I said Justice sensed magical residue on her, not that she cast anything, let alone blood magic.”

   “She was covered in blood-

   “And she was badly injured, ergo, blood.”

   My heart thudded in my chest. Just what the hell did I wake up to? The words “blood magic” circled in my head, and with each rotation they became more familiar. I had been stabbed the one man said. I had, hadn’t I? I could remember then, the sensation of falling, fear clogging my throat, a shadow standing over me. But that was fragments of my dream. That wasn’t real…only a nightmare, right?

   The ocean. There it was, the tang of salt layered under the scent of herbs and soap. In my dream, I had seen the ocean. But I lived nowhere near the water. I’d made sure of that. Impossible. This was all impossible. Unless I was still dreaming.

   My eyes opened, wary. I was lying on a cot. There were empty ones lined in front of me, and then an earthen wall intersecting with a wooden one. This was like no 21st century clinic I had ever seen. My breathing quickened. It did not go unnoticed.

   “Blondie, I think your patient is awake.”

   Footsteps neared. I peeked out from my blanket cave. A group had surrounded my bedside. It felt surreal to have so many people’s attention trained on me at once. I rapidly blinked as if they were an illusion but they remained and didn’t look to have plans to leave anytime soon. I swallowed my anxiety down and lowered the blanket so my face emerged.

   “I’m Anders.” A tall man with a kind smile leaned over to adjust the pillow behind my head. “How are you feeling?” he asked. I recognized his voice. He was the one who claimed the clinic as his.

   His shoulder length, honey blond hair caught the glow of the setting sun streaming in from a nearby window, creating a nimbus around his head, a warmth matched in his light brown eyes. My mouth opened to speak, but then frowned at his clothing. Were those robes…and feathers?

   “Ah, you must be thirsty,” he chastised himself and spun out of sight.

   My eyes fell on the second nearest, a slight young woman with short brown hair and intricate facial tattoos winding across her cheeks, chin, and forehead of the like I’d never seen. Eyes that already seemed too large for her face grew even larger at my attention.

   “You’re odd, even for a shem,” she said as she unfolded a piece of clothing to hold out in front of her. “I’ve never seen clothing like this. What’s it called? Is it some kind of ceremonial garb?”

   Those were my jeans! But if she had them, then what was I wearing? A quick pat down determined the answer: nothing.

   “Daisy, maybe introductions are in order before you inform the patient she’s been stripped by strangers,” said a short, stout man who wore a low buttoned shirt that revealed ample amounts of chest hair. He snagged my jeans from the woman and sat them at the foot of my cot where I could keep an eye on them. “Varric Tethras at your service,” he smiled and lovingly patted the crossbow strapped on his back. “This is Bianca. Say hello Bianca.”

   “Right, sorry. I’m Merrill” the woman supplied, nervously tucking her hair behind pointed ears.

   Pointed ears! I squinted at them. They looked real! They were truly convincing prosthetics. But why would—    

   The tall man returned with a waterskin. “Here you go,” he said as he uncapped it. He reached a hand out to steady the skin in my shaking hands as I brought it to my lips, the other supporting the back of my head. I hadn’t realized how parched I was until the water ran down my throat. Instantly I felt better, though my throat still felt awful. One hand grazed the tender skin there and I winced.

   The tall man took the empty waterskin back. “I’m Anders, and you are in my clinic. You were attacked and injured.”

   That much I had gathered. I tried to look past him to the window.

   “Where?” I croaked, the sound no more than a whisper.

   “In Darktown. Don’t you remember?” It was Anders’ turn to frown. He reached one hand to touch my head as if searching for some undiscovered trauma. I felt heat rise in my cheeks in response, sensitive to how his fingertips brushed my skin and shifted my hair. In less than a minute, this man had gently touched me three times as if it were the most natural thing to do, and yet, I couldn’t recall the last time anyone had.

   I sat up to reach for my jeans with one hand holding the blanket to my naked chest, effectively removing Anders’ confusing touch. “Where’s Darktown? North of Crystal Falls?”

   “I don’t know anything about a place called Crystal Falls, but Darktown is located in Kirkwall,” Varric said slowly.

   The moment drew out but my blank look didn’t suddenly dawn in comprehension.

   “Kirkwall, one of the cities of the Free Marches.” He sent Anders a covert message with his eyes like I might be crazy.

   My hackles rose. I had seen crazy. I was not crazy. Oh, and if I owned a crossbow, I wouldn’t name it like a person, I wanted to snap, but instead, gritted my teeth and said, “And would you please tell me where on Earth we are because I’d like to go home.”  

   My hands felt in my jean pockets for my phone. I needed to call the police to tell them I had been kidnapped by deranged cosplayers. As my hands gripped the leather case, I stilled. No one had answered me.

   “I can’t tell you where on Earth you are because I’ve never even heard of it until now. You are in the only world we know of save the Fade: Thedas,” Anders said.

   “Thedas?” Well, this “only world” was fading fast with the way the room spun.

   “You’re not well yet. Lie down,” Anders tried to guide me back to the pillow and set my phone back by my jeans, but I held onto it like a life raft in a storm.  

   “Listen, I appreciate you helping me, but I need to get home,” I said as I shrugged away his help. I didn’t have time to deal with the churned up emotions of having someone so focused on me. My focus needed to be on getting home.

   I flipped the magnetic case flap open. When the screen lit up, there was a collective gasp.

   “What magic is this?” the deep voice from before hissed.

   I only caught a glimpse of the no service bars before my phone was snatched from my hand. I looked up into forest green eyes and then it was my turn to gasp. I’d never seen a man so uniquely beautiful: white hair draped around pointed ears, bronze skin covered by black leathers and fantastical armor, and his body a canvas of glowing tattoos. Enough weird shit was going down to even worry about how that last part was happening.

   “That’s very rude, Fenris,” Merrill scolded the other elf cosplayer, not looking particularly imposing as she stared up at the other who wore a sword near the size of his body strapped to his back. That sword probably should have given me pause but I was incensed.

   “Give me back my phone!” I awkwardly lunged for it while trying to maintain my modesty. He easily evaded me, eyes ablaze.

   “Who sent you? Did _he_  send you?”

   “Easy there, Broody,” Varric said, putting a hand between the two of us.

   “Nobody sent me,” I snapped back, leaning over Varric’s arm right into Fenris’ face. My throat ached with the effort, but a cocktail of anger and panic pushed me on. “I don’t even know who this ‘he’ you’re referring to is, and if whoever he is did send me, he picked a piss-poor person because I don’t know where the hell I am,” I waved a hand to stop Anders who had already opened his mouth to correct me. “Yeah, you say Thedas, I say Earth. I can figure out exactly where I am when I get enough service bars to activate my GPS and then call for a ride. So give me my phone, I’ll get out of your hair, and we can all go on our way.”

   “What’s G-P-S and what’s a hell?” Merrill asked with an innocent tilt of her head.

   “Magic,” Fenris spat, his eyes unwavering from mine.

   If Anders’ face had been sunshine before, a cloud had just passed over it. He looked like he wanted to tear into Fenris as badly as I did.

   The world wobbled but I refused to let it shake me. “There is no such thing as magic.”

   “Oh,” he bitterly laughed, “how I wish.”

   There was flash from his tattoos and in one swift move he planted his free fist into my chest. I heard cursing and a scuffle of movement around me, but all I could focus on was the feel of his gauntlet covered hand grasping my heart with intangible fingers. I hovered in position perfectly frozen, understanding that in one move he could rip my life from me.

   But he didn’t.

   An ache emanated from where we in-corporeally touched as our awareness slid into each other. I could feel the blood pumping under his skin. When he breathed, my lungs filled with air. No sensation had ever felt so intimate. And then, there were images and impressions coming so fast I couldn’t sort them. But I caught the flash of blue, a glow like his tattoos. It was alive, calling me. Singing. It sounded familiar.

   Fenris’ face lost its color. “What are you?”

   I had no chance to even contemplate an answer or throw the question right back at him before he pulled out and I collapsed. Blue light surrounded me, and I recognized the pure rain scent of it from my nightmare.

   Not a nightmare. Real.  

   And this was magic.

   Whelp, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

   What happened when I next woke was a blur of Anders – Anders apologizing for “the Blighted elf.” Anders coaxing me to take sips of water. Anders changing my bandages. Anders trying to shake me from my shock through small talk. Anders giving me a floral scented medicine that tasted like no cough syrup I’d ever tasted before but did wonders to soothe my throat but little for my stomach that still felt nauseous after my understanding of reality had been shattered. It was all I could do to hold my fragments together, hoping they would fuse together into some shape I could make sense of later.

   But I found reality isn’t so much a vase knocked off a shelf – it’s a lake whose surface had been smooth as glass until a boulder dropped in its center. Eventually, the waves lapsed and ripples echoed out, but the boulder remained in the center, altering the way the water finally settled. It would never be exactly as it was before.  

   I’d sleep intermittently only to wake up in a panic, my hands grasping at my throat, my chest, as if I were trying to rip someone else’s away from me. I don’t know what was more frightening, the nightmare I couldn’t recall or the new reality I was waking up to. I’d force myself to take deep breathes, and eventually I’d fall into another restless sleep. Each time the panic lessened as my mind repeatedly discerned between reality and fantasy, but it all seemed to stretch on into one endless, feverish dream. When I woke from one such sleep, I heard quick footsteps and felt a warmth surround me, a tinge of blue seeping through my eyelids, and then finally, thankfully, dreamless sleep.

 

  

   I woke to the sound of footsteps, soft, slow, weary.

   I shifted onto my elbows to peer up at Anders, barely visible in the dark.

   “Sorry I woke you,” he said, reaching for a small satchel near the foot of the cot. “You can go back to sleep.”

   The haze of sleep was still near enough I almost did without question, but when I glanced down to the cocoon I had emerged from, I noted this was not the cot I first woke on. I was in smaller room. With the blanket wrapped around me, I rose to my knees, my look questioning.

   “There was an influx of patients from Darktown with an ailment of the lungs. I wasn’t sure if it was contagious and thought it best to keep you out of it till I knew further,” he explained as he reached back to retie his hair, hands shaking like butterfly wings in an autumn gale.

   “Was it?” I surprised myself when I reached for the hairband, and he let me as if he hadn’t even felt the touch, distracted by some unseen thing in the dark.

   “No,” his hands covered his face. “Chokedamp. Two dead.”

   I didn’t know what to say. It sounded like something out of a history textbook. On Earth death was the obituaries in newspapers left opened on coffee shop tables or the headline if the result of a tragic accident. But here it wasn’t distant, not with the casual way others looted bodies and fought. It ran in these people’s circles, its face no stranger. Yet even so, it was not a friend. When death arrived to claim someone, the familiarity of its face didn’t lessen the holes it carved in its passing. Even now, Anders’ eyes were lifeless, like grooves chipped from wood. 

   I soothed a hand down the back of Anders’ head as I gathered the top layer of his hair back into a tail like the style he had worn when I first woke. It felt odd to touch him, but not uncomfortable like I expected. Just different. If this different could ease him even a little, rekindle that warmth I had seen earlier, then it was worth it.

   “You don’t have to do that. It’s dirty,” he said.

   His hair could use a wash, but I heard the underlying meaning: I’m not worthy of your kindness. The doctor-patient mask he wore had slipped, and I saw the man beneath. I didn’t know much about this Thedas place — it was like stepping into a fantasy novel with people resembling elves, dwarves, and people like Fenris who could literally touch people’s hearts if he wanted — but they were people all the same.

   As I finished tying Anders’ hair, I realized I believed him when he said I was in Thedas. I couldn’t read the loss of life he’d seen written into the slump of his figure and the tightness of his voice and say this wasn’t real. The moment wasn’t world shattering like when Fenris put his fist in my chest, making me question everything I had ever known, but the solemn acceptance of a skipping stone finally slipping beneath the surface.  

   Anders continued to stare off into the darkness, and I felt like it was encroaching, circling. I wanted to pull him back from it but felt powerless as to how, just as he must have felt powerless seeing the faces of those who slipped away despite his best efforts.

   But those efforts made all the difference for somebody.

   “How many didn’t die?” I asked.

   He looked at me, then down at the blanket. “Seven.”

   “Then there are seven who are still alive tonight because of you,” I ducked my head so he had to looked into my eyes and not the darkness. “Like I’m alive because of you.”

   He didn’t say anything, eyes awakening with some emotion I couldn’t place.

   “Thank you.”

   He threw his satchel on his shoulder and moved to the exit. In the doorway he paused. Without hesitation, his gaze met mine.

   “I don’t even know your name.”

   I smiled slightly. “Amelia Payne. Friends call me Mel.”

   I almost snorted – what friends? – but Anders returned the smile, a sliver of light in the dark.

   “Sweet dreams, Mel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slight interlude before Mel gets acquainted with the rest of the Kirkwall gang and its roguish leader.


	3. Chapter 3

   The next time I awoke I knew what to expect–that is, a whole lot of crazy shit–but I couldn’t resist pinching myself again to be sure this wasn’t a dream. I certainly didn’t bring any totem to ensure I wasn’t in someone else’s dream.

   “Honey, there are better ways to determine you’re alive,” a woman with flawless brown skin and black wavy hair held back by a bandanna purred. She strolled near my bedside and quirked a brow at my chest. “If you like, I could demonstrate.”

   She gave me a slow, alluring smile, drawing attention to the piercing below her lower lip, then the column of her throat covered by an elaborate golden choker that rested above the curves of her breasts, barely tucked away in her bodice. I hadn’t meant to stare, but she took it as an invitation to sit right by my side.

   “So,” her fingers walked up my arm as she spoke, “shall I show you the best way to wake up in a new place?”

   I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes, so I looked down to my toes. When I realized my blanket had worked its way off my chest while I tossed in my sleep, I blushed. Well, that explained the stare. I quickly pulled the blanket back over me.

   The woman laughed and set a stack of clothes on my lap. “Your other garments were no more than bloody rags besides the pants. You’ll thank me later for being the one to get you replacements. Anders’ clothes are already in need of replacement so he had nothing to spare. Varric always overestimates humans’ sizes so you’d have looked like a bag. Aveline couldn’t be bothered to tell the difference between a decent dress from a potato sack since all she ever wears is her Captain of the Guard armor. I, on the other hand, know how to display one’s assets.”

   Well, I couldn’t argue with the last part.

    “Aveline?” I unfolded the clothes, trying to not think about how I had just unintentionally displayed my assets for this woman.

   “Eh, you’ll meet that death of the party soon enough. Hawke too. He’s in the next room and wants to meet one of these ‘walking corpses’ that had Darktown’s panties in a knot while he was off gallivanting on some do-gooder errand with Aveline that he just had to drag me along on,” she got off the bed to give me room to dress, and I suspected, to give me some privacy. “I’m Isabela by the way. Formerly Captain Isabela but I can’t be much of a captain without a ship, and that’s a story for another time.” Her voice fell slightly at this last part, and she snuck a peak at me as a consolation prize. I gave her the finger and she grinned. A smaller one came over my own face as I shook my head. Was everyone in this world such a character?

   The clothes actually had leggings unlike Isabela’s, and they covered more than I usually wore if it was hot out, but everything was so…tight. Back home, I was a jeans and sweatshirt kind of girl. I didn’t need a mirror to know that the clothes were practically painted on me–Isabela’s ogle told me that.

   “People don’t actually think I’m a walking corpse, do they?” I could really do without another person trying to knife me. I took that memory and shoved it away. Dwelling on it would only induce a panic attack, and I needed my head on straight if I wanted to get home.

   “From what I heard, that’s what you looked like when they dragged you in here.” She reached over to fix my own wavy hair which I was certain was a rat’s nest at this point. She pursed her lips then retrieved a bowl of water from across the room.

   “Anders left it out for you,” she explained. “Thought you might like to get cleaned up a bit seeing as you haven’t bathed in days.”

   I held the bowl, water still swaying inside, and waited for it to settle so I could study my reflection. Storm gray eyes, pale skin with a smattering of freckles, brown hair just like my mom’s. I was still me, though my hair was a disaster, skin paler than normal, eyes churned up like sea foam, and the pink mark of a fading cut by one eyebrow.   

   Isabela pulled out a comb and began working it through my hair, startling me enough that a bit of the water sloshed over the bowl’s side. She smirked at my surprised expression.

   “Might as well convince everyone you have better hygiene than the dead when you’re properly introduced. First impressions and all that. You’ll have to wait for a real bath. I could help with that,” she gave me a suggestive look and I wasn’t sure if she were serious or joking. I might have laughed it off, but my throat had closed over after staring at the evidence of my attack. She didn’t comment on my quietness and I was grateful for that as I looked anywhere than at the water and took deep breathes. With thoughts of my attack so close to the surface, it wouldn’t take much for the bowl of water to look fathomless and choking.

   In a few minutes, she stepped back and nodded in approval at my appearance.

   “Thank you Isabela,” my voice came out softer than I had intended as I ran a hand gently down my waves. The last person to brush it had been my mom, and that was years ago when I was a little girl, back before I noticed the cracks in my simple life. If I closed my eyes, I might have been able to pretend for a moment I’d gone back and that everything that followed had been nothing more than a nightmare. I didn’t realize how badly I missed things like this till now, something as simple as being touched by another person. With purpose, not just an accidental bump in the street or the brush of fingers as I’d take my change from the cashier at the grocery store. But here, both Anders and Isabela had reached out to me like it was nothing. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

   This time Isabela definitely caught my quietness.

   “If you tell anyone some nonsense about me having a heart of gold, one morning you’ll find your smalls hanging from the nearest flagpole.”

   I nodded, smiling in return, glad that she went straight to lightening the mood. I could see myself getting along with her for my duration in Kirkwall; that is, before I figured out what wardrobe I’d stumbled out from. I just had to keep an eye out for a winter setting with a conspicuously placed lamppost.  

   “And this Hawke is?”

   “Hawke is… well, you’ll see.”

   With that she ushered me into the next room.

 

 

    Everyone stared at me when I entered the room, leaving no doubt that they had all been waiting to officially meet me, but it still made me uncomfortable to have so many pairs of eyes sizing me up. I was used to people staring through me, not at me. Wearing Isabela’s clothes didn’t help. I resisted the urge to cross my arms over my chest or in any way look self-conscious. I straightened my spine and met everyone’s gaze in turn.

   Anders had been stacking glass bottles on a nearby shelf and stopped mid-motion, a slight smile gracing his tired face at seeing me well enough to be up and about. His satchel laid open, papers scattered near an inkwell and quill with candles burned low. He hadn’t stayed up late writing, did he?

   Varric had been sitting on a stool inspecting something on Bianca while talking to Merrill who had been hanging onto his every word. Fenris leaned on the door frame of the clinic’s entrance, the picture of disinterest as he stared into the depths of Darktown, but a flick of his eyes in my direction belied that. Then there was a formidable looking woman with a shock of red hair and a generous dose of freckles decked out in plate armor that bore some kind of crest who must be Aveline, the Guard Captian. She had been talking to the man at the center of the room who I knew had to be Hawke.

   I understood why Isabela declined to describe him in favor of letting me meet him for myself. He didn’t have Anders’ fairness and neither did he have Fenris’ exotic beauty. But he was a handsome man in his own right with his dark hair and beard, tall and broad shouldered with armor fitted in such a way that it promised hardened plains of muscle beneath. While not the most unique looking out of the group, he stood out and it seemed I was not the only one who felt so. Everyone in the room gravitated towards him with their body language and words, like he was the sun of this group’s solar system.

   He uncrossed his arms at my entrance and donned a pleasant smile though his brown eyes remained guarded. There was something in the way his gaze lingered on my face, as if he were trying to distill who I appeared to be from who I was. I felt more exposed under his gaze than I did when I accidentally flashed Isabela.

   I stepped back, resisting his pull.

   Well, best get this over with.

   “While I’ve already met most of you, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Amelia Payne, though you can just call me Mel if you want. I think it’s already been established that I’m not a walking corpse, and no, those don’t exist on Earth though apparently they’re a thing in Thedas. And no, I don’t know how I got here. My last hours on Earth aren’t...forthcoming. All I know is I woke up in an alleyway and some dude was trying to mug me or something,” one hand started fiddling with my hair and my mouth went dry at the memory. But I plowed on.

   “Guess they thought I was already dead cause they freaked when I got up. Then they tried to …remedy that and well, of course I ran and the one caught me. Called me a blood mage and…” the other hand went to my throat and I shivered. Inwardly I cursed at myself for letting memories take control of me, but the cold seemed to spread through my veins. I felt like the lead actress who had taken center stage but forgot her monologue.

   Anders had set down the bottles since I began speaking, his mouth drawn into a tight line at my tale and eyes furious on my behalf. How could he feel so strongly for someone he just met? I swallowed then forced both hands to return to my sides.  

   “It’s a little spotty. I remember the sounds of fighting, a blue light.”

   Anders nodded. “Yes, that was me. I’m a Spirit Healer, a mage that uses magic to heal. I do well with fireballs and cones of ice too when the situations calls for it.”

   “Really?” I could feel my reins on the conversation go slack but who could resist a detour of magic? All the fairy tales and fantasy novels I devoured on Earth growing up had always made me a bit wistful for something more to the world than kids at school mocking me for my worn out sneakers or new neighborhoods every six months that always managed to feel like the one I just left. As I adult, I rarely had time for those flights of fancy while working two jobs to makes ends meet and trying to go to college part-time. But this brought it all back. What next, talking animals?

   Anders turned his hand palm up and a foot long flame shot up, hovering over his skin, and then as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished.

   I let out a soundless exclamation and crossed the room. On pure impulse, I grasped his hand and immediately felt him tense.

   “Sorry,” I whispered, already letting go, but he grabbed my wrist to stop me from pulling away.

   “It’s all right. You surprised me is all,” he said and placed his hand into mine. The sense of strangeness from touching him, touching anyone, didn’t resurface at the feel of his warm, calloused palm. Instead, it felt natural.

   “I never thought I’d see magic. It’s incredible,” I said as I flipped his palm down then up again to look for signs of scorch marks or burns.

   Instead of rolling his eyes at the woman who was awed by his ordinary, he gave me a smile that put all his doctor-patient ones to shame. The dark atmosphere from the night before was gone, but that connection wasn’t. His eyes never left my face, not even after I dropped his hand, satisfied with my examination.

   “Where did it come from? Where did it go? How are you not hurt?”

   Anders chuckled at my quick succession of questions. “All mages have a connection to the Fade, a world beyond our own. From there we can draw power to cast spells through mana. We can stop whenever we wish, though usually after we complete a spell. We can keep casting until we deplete our mana. Then we either have to let our mana regenerate or drink a lyrium potion. Mages practice for years to control our powers so we do not hurt ourselves or others unintentionally with our power.”

   Could he cure cancer? The common cold? Could he light a chandelier of candles at once? What’s lyrium? What’s this other world the Fade? Each new question sparked a new one in its place. I could stand here all day shooting questions at him, and that would seriously derail the point of this meeting, so I allowed myself one more.

   “You said you did a cone of ice?”

   “That would be a bit excessive for a demonstration of ice magic. But…” He walked towards his shelf of empty bottles and picked up a flower that resembled a reddish black tulip. He passed a hand over it and ice crystals sprouted across its surface, stiffening the plant in his grasp.

   “It’s beautiful,” I said, voice full of wonder.

   Anders handed it to me, warm fingers a sharp contrast with the flower’s frosted stem.

   “If you think that’s impressive, you’ll have to get Anders to show you his electricity thing sometime,” Isabela shot him a knowing look. “I’m sure he’d be more than happy to oblige.”

   “Sometimes Rivaini, you don’t know when to quit,” Varric said as he pulled out a quill and sheath of paper. “But now that we’re on the topic, how exactly does this electricity thing work? My next romance serial could use something shocking.”

   Anders groaned, Aveline gave a derisive snort, and Hawke’s laugh boomed across the room. When Hawke’s eyes were on Anders, I could have sworn they twinkled.    

   “I missed something dirty, didn’t I? I always miss the dirty things,” Merrill said.

   Fenris glared at Anders. “Why don’t you tell her everything else you are? Maybe that you’re an apostate. Or you’re an abom-.”

   “I told you not to call me that,” Anders matched Fenris’ glare. 

   Fenris stalked over from his place by the door, another retort already on his lips. Anders angled to face him while simultaneously positioning himself as a barrier between me and the elf with a penchant for ripping out vital organs.

   “Anders is also a Grey Warden!” Merrill tossed into the fray, the randomness dispelling the brewing fight as all eyes turned to her.

   “A Grey wha-

   “I’m a mage too,” she pronounced, brandishing a staff she unstrapped from her back. “I used to be my Dalish clan’s First, training to become Keeper someday. But I live in the alienage now trying to repair one of our ancient artifacts—an eluvian.”

   That was a lot of back story. I didn’t even know where to start.

   “And a blood mage,” Fenris muttered. Hawke shot him a pointed look and Fenris grunted but chose not to make an issue of it.

   The red headed warrior stepped up.

   “I’m Aveline, Captain of Kirkwall’s Guard,” she confirmed. “I’ve already handled the paperwork regarding the incident but when you’re able I’ll need you to come by the Keep to make your statement. There can’t be such a high body count and no report.”

   Nausea swept through me as I remembered the giant sword sweeping down to lob off my attacker’s head. Oh my god, I saw somebody die. If the whole other world thing was real, then so was that. I literally saw somebody lose their head. Bile rose in my mouth and the world tilted sharply.

   I must have blacked out for only a second, but when I came to, I found I had been saved from a harsh reunion with the floor due to a pair of strong arms encircling me.

   “Thank you,” I murmured into Hawke’s chest, slowly pushing on his forearms to regain my feet. My face was on fire. Since when did I become some fainting maiden?

__Well, Mel, since when did you wake up in other worlds where there’s magic, intangible fists, walking corpses, and people dying like it’s a normal Tuesday?_ _

   “Anytime, though I must say, women usually don’t fall into my arms so quickly,” he said, releasing me only after he was sure I was steady on feet, which didn’t help with the blushing problem. 

   Fenris scowled at us, but that seemed to be his default expression. Varric hastily scribbled on his paper. Isabela sighed a tad wistfully.

   Another pair of hands found me, these ones glowing blue. Dr. Anders was in.

   “How do you feel?” he asked as his magic enveloped me in a comforting cocoon.

   “Dizzy, sore, and a bit tired.”

   “Well, you’ve barely had anything to eat for the last three days. A light meal is in order.”

   “I don’t suppose there’s any food that could even qualify as a light meal or any meal to be found here,” Hawke said to Anders pointedly. Anders didn’t deny it.

   Varric tucked his writing materials away. “So, the Hanged Man?”

   “The Hanged Man,” Isabela agreed. “You still owe me two sovereigns, Varric. Maybe you can start paying me back by buying us all a round, hmmm?”

   “What? You won’t let me challenge you to another round of Wicked Grace to win it back?”

   “Could you beat me?”

   “You wound me, Rivaini,” Varric clutched his hands over his heart. “Maybe I would win more often if you didn’t cheat.”

   “I never cheat Varric,” Isabela said as she sauntered out the door.

   “Don’t bullshit a professional bullshitter,” Varric said as he exited too.

   “I think she’s right Varric,” Merrill said as she trailed behind. “Where would she stash the extra cards?”

   “Oh Kitten,” I barely made out Isabela’s laugh before Darktown swallowed them up.

   Aveline crinkled her nose in disgust. To Hawke, she said, “I’ve patrol of the Docks tonight. But make sure Amelia makes it to the Keep soon, understood?”

   She swung her shield off her back in anticipation of trouble and strode off.

   That left Anders, Fenris, Hawke and myself.

   I looked nervously out into Darktown. I couldn’t help but flashback to when I last set foot out there by myself.

   Fenris took point for our group without bothering to spare me a second glance. As Anders put out the lantern in front of his clinic, Hawke took my arm and tucked it in the crook of his arm like we were enacting a scene from Pride and Prejudice before we followed Fenris. I might have leaned more than was acceptable, but there was a slight pain in my leg, a pit in my stomach, and my nerves had started to unravel at the prospect of leaving the safety of the clinic.

   “My name is Garrett Hawke. Most just call me Hawke, but Garrett works too.”

   I smiled up at him. “Thank you, Garrett.”

   For the first time, I saw the guarded look slip off his eyes. He knew I meant it for more than his name.

   As Anders took up the rear, Fenris led us; his armor moved perfectly with his body, his giant sword never knocking his legs. A passing torch’s light glinted off the metal, and I knew it.

   Fenris was the one who had saved me with a single swoop of his sword.

   One moment he’s saving me, a complete stranger, then he almost kills me, and now I’m like an annoying blip on his radar. He was an enigma if there ever was one, but like Anders, he was one of the reasons I was still breathing.

   “Thank you,” I mouthed at his back, knowing he couldn’t hear me but needing to say it all the same. Perhaps later I could say it to his face if his face didn’t look like it wanted to kill something and that something was me.

   I pushed Fenris from my mind to focus on Hawke as he gave me the unofficial tour of Kirkwall leading up to Lowtown. I tried to absorb as much as I could, knowing I had to have a reasonable understanding of this foreign place if I was going to survive long enough to get back to Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took longer to post than expected. Real life demanded a lot of attention. The next chapter should be out on Sunday as long as everything goes smoothly with the new job I start tomorrow. That and marathon reading Kingdom of Ash *excited shrieking*  
> Anyways, always love to hear from people. Feel free to drop me a comment on your reactions, what you liked, where you think the story is going etc. if you're so inclined. Also you can connect with me on Tumblr at: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/violetiris-ak.


	4. Chapter 4

   The Hanged Man wasn’t what I expected. For one, there was a statue of a hanged man outside the main entrance. Not what I’d consider a smart marketing tactic, but business wasn’t put off by the décor. The taproom was flooded with too-loud-laughs, conspicuous gossipers, and simmering brawls. Even on a different world—bars, taverns or whatever you want to call it—are still the same.

   I cringed as the waitress Norah lugged a platter of emptied tankards back behind the bar and one man leaned forward on his stool to make a lewd comment; I’d been there. I work as a bartender at night and a waitress at a diner in the mornings before classes, or make that “worked” if I don’t make it back home soon. I gave a smile to Norah as she came to our table.

   “Just the porridge and water for her, Norah, thank you,” Garrett said after everyone else ordered, and the disgruntled woman sighed and trudged back to the crowded bar. He turned to me, as if sensing I was annoyed that he had ordered for me. “Trust me. It’s the only edible thing here.”

   Maybe if I had been feeling more myself I could have worked up a little more indignation, but the walk from Darktown to Lowtown had fatigued me more than it should. I had said as much to Anders on the walk up. He’d frowned a bit but said that after a day or two of regular meals and light exercise I should be feeling as well as I had before. I hoped so. Running was always something I was good at. It had saved my life in Darktown and it might again if the situation called for it. I had no weapons and who knows how long these people I fell in with would tolerate having me around. Especially me being, well, me. 

   I must have sounded like a two-year-old with how I kept asking “What’s that?” and “Why?” to everything. In the course of the walk, I had learned that elves were treated as second class citizens and segregated to living in alienages (apparently they’re not even good enough to mix in with the rest of Lowtown); Templars, the special ops knights with buckets for helmets were tasked with being glorified jailors for mages because being born with magic is basically a crime; Kirkwall used to be a slave city and slavery is still an accepted practice in a major country called Tevinter; Kirkwall was full of refugees and other poor folk and the Viscount Doom-something or other was too busy playing patty cakes with nobles and a people called Qunari who the Chantry, Thedas’ Catholic Church, apparently also despised—neither powerful force could be bothered to look into helping folks but an apostate like Anders could while on the run from said bucket heads and for free.

   Garrett and Anders might not have said it all with my level of indignant fervor—except for Anders when it came to the Templars which I could understand, to be honest—but I could read between the lines.

   I had three thoughts to all that.

  1. The. Fuck.
  2. Thedas really needs a civil rights movement.
  3. There is no place like home.



   I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Was it any wonder that I slouched in my chair as Garrett’s gang chattered around me? Everyone had a drink, and though some like Merrill made faces at their chosen brews, they all drank heartedly. Well, except Anders who only nursed his drink but tore into his porridge like he hadn’t eaten in days either.

   When Norah set my own porridge in front of me, I took a tentative bite. Not bad. Then my stomach made its emptiness known, and I couldn’t fill it quick enough. I nearly licked the bowl clean and would have eaten another but I knew that would make me sick.

   When I saw Garrett pay for Anders’ and my meal along with his drink, I actually did feel a little sick. I had no money and so I was at the mercy of my new acquaintances’ generosity. I didn’t want to accept it but I was short on options.

   Growing up, there were plenty of times when mom and I were short on money, and had to rely on humanity’s better nature. Mom, though undoubtedly brilliant, never went to any college or trade school that I knew, and always worked some low-skilled, low-paying job. I know she could have moved up to higher paying positions if she stuck around long enough, but after six months in one town she’d be ready to move us on to the next. We usually managed to scrape by, but there were some days our power would be turned off or we’d have to hit up the local food pantry. From a young age, I would try to pull my weight: babysitting, yard work, shoveling, and other odds jobs.

   Since money was short, I rarely participated in school trips and other events. I remember in middle and high school how I longed to go, to maybe finally build connections with people my own age, even if I’d be saying goodbye months later. I wanted to live like the other kids, to experience what it was like to put down roots in one place, if only so that when I was ripped up, I’d leave a hole not easily filled. For once.

   But anytime the parent-funded trips came up, I’d decline immediately, knowing we didn’t have the money. I didn’t want mom to feel bad about having to say no, and it’d be even worse if she said yes, because I knew she’d pinch the money from the grocery fund and short herself on some necessity. If I ever did go out, it was funded through my own efforts, though my spending money was usually well spent at the second hand store, not on overnight skiing trips. I didn’t like to call attention to our financial situation, so I usually dodged the question as to why I couldn’t come if someone bothered to notice my absence; I didn’t want to be anyone’s charity case.

   That usually worked too, though one time a high school teacher a bit hard of hearing asked too loudly why I’d said no to going. Students next to me had turned with questioning looks which quickly morphed into ones of contempt and even pity, taking in my duct-taped sneakers and worn out jeans I couldn’t hide under my desk no matter how far back I pulled my legs under. The teacher, oblivious, mused out loud about funding my way using some allotment, which if not used for “in need students,” provided additional funds to the senior prom. Judging by the sudden resentful glares targeting my back, it had been made swiftly clear to me that if I touched their planned dance money, I better be prepared to have a miserable time on the trip. I wanted to hide the rest of me under the desk but settled for excusing myself to the restroom. I’d take just being another fading face instead of one mentally used as a dartboard.  

   As long as I was stuck in Thedas though, I’d have to rely on others. At least in the beginning, and hopefully, it wouldn’t be for a long time. If some strange mysterious reason brought me here, there had to be some strange-not-so-mysterious-thing in this world of magic that could send me back.

    “All right, so,” I slapped both hands on the table a little louder than necessary to get the table’s attention. “Now what?”

   “My, you really are all straight to business,” Isabela said as she eyed me from over her tankard.

   “Can you still not remember anything about how you got here?” Anders asked.

   I shook my head. All I could remember was a collage from my attack, and I wanted to avoid that.“But maybe there is a way for you to send me back? You said the Fade was another world. If you can go there, then maybe you can send me to other places, like Earth?”

   “If there’s a way to do that, then it is beyond my knowledge. Magic like that isn’t taught in the Circle,” Anders sighed. “I didn’t even consider the possibility of other worlds until a few days ago. It still seems so impossible.”

   “But it is possible, mage. I believe Amelia is from where she says she is,” Fenris said from across the table, the first thing he’d spoken all night besides ordering a bottle of red wine. He didn’t even look at me as he spoke, but the sound of his voice was like fingertips trailing up my spine. I took a deep sip of water to cover the way it affected me.

   “Care to share why you’re so certain?” Varric asked, and then gave me an apologetic glance. “I can recognize a liar or con artist on most any given day, and if you are one, you’re the best I’ve ever met. But that still doesn’t rule out—

   “—that I might be crazy,” I finished. I knew I wasn’t, and the insinuation pricked, but I knew I’d probably wonder the same in his position.

   “She isn’t,” Fenris and Anders said together, then shared a mutual glare.

   “Well, after all, it is Kirkwall,” Varric said as he leaned onto the back legs of his chair. “Crazy has tainted the water supply.”

   “But she had the glowing tool with the GPS,” Merrill said. “I’d still like to know what that is. It’s not made for this world, but maybe it could help repair the eluvian. It shined like how I imagined the mirror should. Maybe it’s powered the same way. How exciting! Maybe—oh, I’m babbling again, aren’t I?”

   “She is unlike anyone I have ever met,” Fenris said, to which Isabela crooked an eyebrow at him and he in turn ignored. He turned that deep green gaze on me, finally acknowledging me. “When I touched your heart, I knew.”

   He didn’t elaborate further but he didn’t have to. I only knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that transient touch, and I felt like I had been standing on the brink of plunging into Fenris’ essence. I could only imagine what he must have read from me beyond my otherness. But it must have been enough for him to know that I’m not from around here and not the threat he feared. Somehow, staring into his eyes, made me feel like I was approaching that brink all over again.

   Garrett’s thigh nudged mine, breaking the connection. I proceeded to drown the desire to look at Fenris again by chugging my water.

   Everyone settled back in their chairs, the matter settled: I wasn’t from Thedas. It never would have been so easy on Earth. Start claiming to be from another world to near strangers and it’s white coats for you. But maybe in a world of magic, tales like mine were more believable.

   “Are you certain there is no one in the Circle who could help her?” Garrett said to Anders.

   “Reasonably so. If anyone made a hobby out of studying obscure, theoretical magic, then they hid it well. With good cause, too. The Chantry does not look on any magic that would threaten its control kindly.”

    “With good cause, too,” Fenris mimed, upper lip curled. “Magic like that is the providence of magisters.”

   “Yes, well, we’re fresh out of magisters,” Garrett said, firmly steering the conversation away from a squabble. “Ideas?”

   Everyone stared into their cups.

   Merrill piped up. “Hawke, I do. I mean, I don’t know if it’ll work—

   “No blood magic,” Fenris said.

   “I wasn’t going to suggest that. I don’t even know how in this situation that would help—

   “It wouldn’t,” he said.

   “Let’s hear it, Merrill,” Garrett said gently yet firmly.

   Fenris took a long swig from his bottle.

   “Keeper Marethari. She might be able to help. She knows more about magic than anyone I’ve met, and some of it is Dalish knowledge that the Circles would not be familiar with.”

   “That’s a start,” Garrett nodded then said to me. “She lives outside Kirkwall. The Dalish are nomadic. Their aravels were damaged so they’ve taken up an extended stay at the base of Sundermont. I promised Aveline that I would help her with a quest of sorts in the next few days, but at the end of the week, we should be able to make the journey.”

   I nodded though I only understood half of what he just said, and inside I was screaming about the other half. A week? What was I going to do for a week?

   Anders checked the light by a nearby window. “Dusk already. We’d best head back soon.”

   We? Anders had looked at me when he said that. Did he mean go back to the clinic?

   “Only dusk. The night has barely begun,” Isabela said. “Is the passenger so eager to waste this evening penning more unread letters instead of winning back some of your coin?”

   I frowned. Passenger? Did she mean me? I didn’t think so…

   Her smile grew devious as she pulled me into her side. “Or, will you be wetting your pen in something else?”

   My face burned. “Not everyone thinks with their inkwell,” I hissed in her ear, gaze flicking to Anders then away. “Or pen.” Her grin only grew as she let me squirm from out under her arm and then gave Anders a knowing look. Anders only sighed and made a dismissive gesture at her, though his cheeks were tinged red.

   “Oh I doubt that would happen,” Merrill said. “Anders is as bad at Wicked Grace as I am.”

   The whole table laughed and Merrill’s face scrunched up, trying to figure out the joke she missed. I silently thanked Merrill for diverting us from Isabela’s strange fantasy.

   “Rivaini is right though,” Varric said. “It is unusual for you to have a live-in patient.”

   “Wait, the clinic is also where you live?” The small room in the back, the sparse belongings, the single cot… It explained why he had to come in for his satchel. I must have taken his bed when all others had been filled by his other patients. A flush of shame began to creep up my neck. I’d displaced him and hadn’t even known.

   “Ah, yes,” Anders rubbed the back of his neck, backtracking. “I know it’s not much, but you are welcome to stay.”

   A lump formed in my throat. There was no way I could stay. Anders had been nothing but giving with me, a stranger, without expecting a thing in return. And he had so little to give to begin with.

   “It’s no place for anyone to stay,”Garrett said. From the way Anders glanced away, I knew Garret meant more than just me.

   “Anders, that’s generous. Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly impose anymore.” My pasted on smile felt tight on my face. I didn’t want him to think I was turning him down due to the living conditions—I just couldn’t take anymore from him.

   “Yes, of course not,” Garrett said. “Because you’ll be staying with me.”

   I stiffened at his pronouncement but no one else seemed to notice. Nobody objected and Varric even nodded to himself like the outcome seemed obvious.

   “Oooooh, staying at the Amell estate. Lucky girl,” Isabela said, eyes mischievous.

   Only hours ago Garrett had been watching me like he wasn’t sure he could trust me, and in that time frame, he had offered to try to send me back home, and now he wants me to live with him in the meantime. Who does that? He didn’t make sense.

   “No,” I said with decisive shake of my head. I wasn’t going to let Garrett make anymore decisions for me, well-intentioned as they appeared to be. I took a deep breath, tempering my tone. “Thank you Garrett, but I think I’ve imposed enough on you for getting me home.”

   “No imposition,” Garrett said, his tone matching mine: pleasant but firm. “My house has many unused rooms and expenses are not a concern.”

   “Garrett that’s kind of you but I can’t,” I said. If I do, my debt to you and Anders and everyone else will continue to grow and I’ll never get out from under it, I left unsaid. I’ll do what I’ve always done. “I’ll make it on my own.”

   Everyone wore doubtful expressions, though they ranged in severity. Okay, so I couldn’t fight, didn’t understand Thedas’ history or customs and didn’t have any possessions beyond my phone and clothes; it didn’t mean I was helpless. My spark of indignation from earlier rekindled.

   Garrett leaned in close, eyes and voice lowered, a knee pressing against my thigh. Now I knew the first time was no accident.

   “Oh?” was all he said but the question was loaded.

   Nerves tingled where we touched, but not enough to distract me from the way his eyes searched mine. Instead of giving into the urge to scramble out from under his gaze, I met the challenge in his eyes.

   The hubbub in the background drew my focus, the clatter of tankards hurriedly being refilled to meet a demanding room, and then an idea came to me. I shot up from the table and strode to the bar. I could feel the group’s curious eyes following me, but I shrugged the sensation off.

   “Do you own this establishment?” I asked a blond, blue-eyed man who looked like he might be in his mid-thirties.

   “I do,” he said, wiping down a cup as he spoke. “The name is Corff. What can I get you?”

   “I want to work here.”

   Corff lifted an eyebrow, hands only minutely slowing their work. This apparently wasn’t a place people often hit up looking for a job.

   “You could use the help.” I pressed, pointing at Norah rushing around the room. The Hanged Man wasn’t even at capacity and still she was having trouble keeping up. “I’ve worked in ba—I mean, taverns before. I can do the work.”

   Corff considered me for a moment. “Couldn’t pay you.” He eventually decided, and turned around to start filling the cleaned tankard, indicating the conversation was over.

   “You wouldn’t have to pay me. You let me sleep in one of your backrooms, eat what you don’t manage to serve, and I keep any tips I make.”

   Corff snorted. “Won’t make much.”

   I didn’t have to. As long as I’m housed, fed, and make enough for a few essentials, I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten by on the bare minimum before on Earth and I can do it in Thedas. It only had to be for little while.

   Norah passed a platter to Corff right beside me. “Whatcha want?” she asked, slumping against the counter.

   “I want a job.”

   Norah looked from my set expression to Corff. Somewhere in the background a plate shattered and riotous laughter followed.

   “Give it to her.”

   “Norah—

   “Hire me some help or you can start serving the Carta.”

   Corff sighed as Norah grabbed the tankard he filled and marched to a waiting customer across the room.

   “I agree to your terms. Now here is mine,” Corff snapped a cloth to me and started counting on his fingers. “There’s no slacking. You help keep the rooms upstairs in order too. You don’t cause any trouble.”

   I nodded quickly, accepting the cloth.

   “Well, get to it,” he passed me a platter with a questionable looking dish on it and pointed to a table.

   I picked it up, but before I strode over, I shot a triumphant look at Garrett. As I went to serve my first customer, a booming laugh followed me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's chapter 4! Hope you enjoyed.  
> The new job is going well. Unfortunately, my copy of Kingdom of Ash has yet to arrive, but that just means I have more time to write, so it's all good.   
> On another note, while driving to work, I did an excited little shriek when I came up with an idea for this fic. Does anyone else do this when writing? Thankfully I've yet to do this in public.   
> Have a great week all.


	5. Chapter 5

   “Bolt, you can sit down you know. I know these chairs got legs but I doubt they’ll be walking out of here anytime soon.”

   I took down the last chair from the table and straddled it, facing Varric. “Did you just call me Bolt?”

   “Everyone needs a nickname.”

   “Bolt?”

   “Well, you looked like you wanted to bolt right out of the clinic when you first woke.”

   “Of course I did. New world and all that.”

   “And in less than a few days you’ve managed to shoot yourself right into our hearts.”

   “That’s not hyperbolic at all,” I said, rolling my eyes.

   In the past five days I had grown accustomed to Varric’s grandiose statements and exaggerated tales. I admit to being gullible on more than one tale till I’d catch Isabela’s eyerolls. To be fair, I didn’t exactly have a well-established baseline for what’s normal in Thedas so my bullshit detector had been off kilter. I had Varric make up for it by talking my ear off anytime the Hanged Man was slow to steadily fill in my knowledge gaps.

   I was still wading through “A History of Thedas” volume one, a tome Isabela said she looted off a bandit two weeks back. It was useful, but the scholar was dry as sawdust and his scratch-like penmanship made me long for the day when Thedas birthed their own Guttenberg. But I wasn’t going to be in Thedas long so I didn’t really need to know whose face was removed from currency during the fifth sovereign’s reign in Orlais. I think more than anything, I appreciated the familiar feel of a book in my hands. They were the one kind of friend I could always count on. 

   “You’re right. I’m perfectly accurate,” Varric pressed, undeterred by my sarcasm. “It’s in the nature of Hawke and Blondie to help. Blondie will give the shirt off his back and magic away anything he can, while Hawke is more of the ‘let-me-hack-and-slash your problem to bits’ type or ‘let me cut it up neatly with my wit.’ But I’ve never seen them go so far for someone they just met.”

   I barely prevented myself from rolling my eyes again–that was quickly becoming a bad habit. If Varric’s embellished tales were anything to go by, Garrett and crew were basically Kirkwall’s Avengers complete with the banter. The only person who should be surprised by their behavior is me, and I was still trying to adjust to the idea of others noticing me, let alone wanting to help. Varric was just looking for a story where there was none–as if my appearance and tale from being from another world wasn’t interesting enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Isabela had discussed me at length. They’re the type: lovable but nosy.

   “Well, I’m basically an alien minus the flying saucer, though if we find one of those, it’d explain a lot.”

   “Flying saucers! And you say Earth doesn’t have magic.”

   “We don’t. I don’t mean it literally. Okay, well… never mind. I’ll explain later.” I stood. “I need to speak to Corff about tonight’s menu.”

   “I’m going to miss you when you’re gone. Kirkwall is going to miss you. For the first time, the Hanged Man’s food is edible.”

   “Thanks Varric.” I knew a few of the Hanged Man’s patrons were going to miss my food if the sizable tips I’d been getting recently were anything to go by. I hadn’t been shy about taking credit for my work, and word of mouth spread quickly in Lowtown.

   After the my first day of work, when I had sat down to eat what Corff left simmering in the pot, I spat it back out. Garrett had not been wrong when he ordered for me the other day; the porridge really was the only edible item on the menu. I immediately cornered Corff, demanding to be allowed to take over cooking for the Hanged Man. It didn’t take much arm twisting–it was clear from our conversation alone that I was leagues ahead of where Corff’s skills ended. Mom never went for boxed dinners and other prepackaged foods, so I had a lot of cooking experience, especially working with what limited ingredients we had. My first attempts weren’t great–cooking in a medieval-like era requires some adjustments–but they quickly became better with experimentation and a trip to the food stalls nearby (on Corff’s tab, of course). As long as I’m stuck here, I wasn’t going to eat charred vegetables and undercooked meat. And I was determined neither would Anders.

   That man was underfed enough that he might actually eat the swill the Hanged Man had been serving everyday if he could afford it. From what I had been able to piece together from Isabela and Varric talking–conveniently they both live at the Hanged Man’s upstairs rooms–Anders relied on donations to run his clinic and rarely did that money ever benefit the healer.

   After I decided that one of my dishes was edible, I packed some away and wrangled Varric into escorting me to the clinic in exchange for tales about Earth. It quickly became a routine for us, swapping stories as we ventured to Darktown. The first time I was nervous, but eventually I realized someone wasn’t always going to be waiting behind a corner to try and stab me. Memorizing the route from the clinic to the Hanged Man helped my anxiety too, so if the situation ever called for it, I knew at least two safe havens I could run to.

   I never could figure out how Merrill’s ball of string was supposed to help prevent me from getting lost. All she said as she handed it over my first day on the job was: “You need this more than me. I’ve never been so lost that I didn’t know I was in Thedas.” Varric had laughed too hard to translate.

   Anders had been bent over a patient when we arrived that first time, and from the wails of a cluster of children, it seemed the patient was their mother. Varric distracted the kids with stories while I rushed around the clinic fetching water and bandages and helping in whatever way I could as Anders stemmed the woman’s blood loss and sealed her injuries. I really hadn’t been that helpful with the way I gaped as her flesh knit itself back together, leaving fresh pink skin. “Incredible,” I had whispered, but Anders heard, glancing up from his patient as she shrugged her boots back on. His face reddened ever so slightly, and I realized I had been staring at him and quickly averted my gaze.When the mother reunited with her family, a warmth blossomed in my chest as Anders smiled through his weariness at the departing family. I smiled too. Even Varric grinned, but it was at Anders and I standing side by side in the clinic doorway, and he didn’t answer my questioning look, making himself scarce. Then I recalled the reason for my visit.

   When I gave Anders the food basket, he tensed. I didn’t press the handle into his hand. I understood his wariness. Just like we both declined invitations to live at Garrett’s house, neither of us wanted to become somebody’s charity case. But this time the situation wasn’t the same. I owed him, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not. Feeding him for the duration of my stay in Thedas was the least I could do in exchange for him saving my life. Of course, it didn’t mean that I couldn’t be circumspect about the repayment plan. Besides, saying “Thanks for saving my life, here’s some beans and bread” didn’t exactly have a great ring to it.

   “It’s payment,” I said instead, grin turning cheeky. “Or maybe more like an advance apology.”

   Then I proceeded to barrage him with questions on magic in Thedas. It became my morning routine. Before the rush at the Hanged Man, Varric would escort me to the clinic and entertain waiting patients, I’d help Anders roll bandages or whatever else needed doing as I got him talking between mouthfuls of food.

   Anders was hesitant at first, like he couldn’t quite believe that I wanted to know everything that I asked. It was like a fissure running through me when I realized that Anders must have always lived like this, never being able to express his joy of his magic without others being wary of him. I tried to be as delicate as possible. I wasn’t practiced in these things, but slowly Anders’ shoulders lost their tension, when after ten minutes, my questions kept coming and I hadn’t run screaming into Darktown. His smiles came easier, and each one was like a touch of his healing magic sealing up the fissure.

   Truth be told, I was genuinely fascinated about magic so my questions were earnest, but I was also fascinated with how his face lit up when he landed on a topic he was passionate about. I could listen to him for hours if either of us had the time. He’d get a bit self-conscious when he realized he had been rambling about a certain aspect of my question but I’d always smile and nudge him to continue. It was like he was used to being silent for long periods of time though words were damming up behind sealed lips. I knew what that was like. No one should have to know what that’s like.

   Eating regularly and taking a well-deserved break seemed to agree with Anders. Only this morning when I visited him, his face had a bit more color to it. Now if there was only a way to get him to sleep more. The bags under his eyes told me he wasn’t sleeping much, though I didn’t know whether to attribute it to insomnia, nightmares or something else. It wasn’t something I could ask without giving away the ulterior motive to my visits and it was unlikely that we’d become close enough during my stay that I could ask him. My relationships on Earth had always been…stunted so I didn’t have much experience to call upon. All I could do was drop some hints to Varric and Garrett once I left and hope that they followed through.

   That’s right. In less than two days I might be on my way back to Earth. Maybe Marethari wouldn’t pan out, but she could. My whole life I’ve been moving, so much that the surrounding people and places became a blur. But for the first time in a long time, I knew I was truly going to miss the people I was leaving behind.

   “I’ll miss you too, Varric,” I said before making my way to the back.

 

  

 

   It was my last night in Kirkwall, and tomorrow, Garrett would take me to the base of Sundermount to meet Merrill’s mentor, who could hopefully send me home.

   I was so ready.

   I stretched after I went behind the bar, dropping off dirty tankards and bowls from a group who had arrived an hour ago. They called themselves the Dog Lords, and I’d probably could have guessed that from the giant dogs they’d been forced to leave at the door, but they’d been happy to loudly proclaim their gang allegiance to anyone who would listen, which unfortunately centered on me, their primary server. Norah was scrubbing some dishes in the back to keep up with the demand, and Corff was slinging drinks at the bar.

   “They give all Fereldans a bad name,” he muttered as he arranged their next round on a tray. I said nothing, which was fast becoming my approach to social situations I was unsure of in Thedas. Asking for more insight to that comment would surely reveal that I wasn’t from around here, or more likely Anders and Varric both warned me, make me look unstable or worse. Best to keep my head low so I could arrive back on Earth with it still safely attached to my shoulders. Neither Corff or Norah seemed to notice that I wasn’t overly talkative–as long as my work got done, they probably wouldn’t care if I never spoke at all.

   The door to the tavern opened and Fenris entered. I smiled at his arrival. Finally a patron that wouldn’t cause any trouble. I went and grabbed a bottle of his favorite red wine off the rack, uncorked it, and headed toward the table I knew he’d claim in the rear. He settled himself in a chair with its back to the wall so he could survey the entire room.

   Then his gaze found me. I didn’t have to look up to know. It felt like a hand cradling the small of my back to guide me safely through the crowd. A shiver flitted down my spine at the phantom touch, and I squashed the sensation, annoyed at how easily he affected me. Or more like how easily my imagination did.

   I placed the wine in front of Fenris with a nod and polite smile. He inclined his head in thanks, and as always, said nothing to me. I had been dismissed.

   I don’t know why that bothered me as much as it did considering people had treated me like that for most of my life. He’d come in every night, sip his red until we closed, and then leave a generous tip behind. I should be happy about having such a regular, no-fuss customer, but something about the situation rankled.

   Even though he was drinking, the wine seemed to hardly affect him. His posture remained straight, eyes alert, and sometimes, I could have sworn, they were on me. I’d look straight at him, but those hypnotic eyes would be back to disinterestedly surveying the room. He didn’t talk to anyone, and those that tried, like the one woman with cleavage that rivaled Isabela’s, he sent a glare so cold they would shudder as they walked away. It was his business, I’d scold myself before shrugging off further speculation and throwing myself back into my work.

   It wasn’t until the third night when Varric made a passing comment on the abnormality of Fenris’ behavior that my curiosity truly kindled. Apparently, Fenris lived in a mansion with an enormous wine cellar with vintages that far outclassed anything the Hanged Man served. And, he only came to the tavern for Wicked Grace night and to socialize with Garrett and crew, never by himself. Varric said nothing more on it, and I didn’t want to betray my unusual interest by asking.

   Instead, I observed. If Isabela or Varric swung by his table, Fenris would chat with his companions, but whenever Varric went off to work on his book and Isabela led an attractive person or two up to her room, Fenris would settle back into his solitude.

   What was his purpose here? I couldn’t help but think it had something to do with me, since after all, the one variable that had changed in this equation was my inclusion. The way he watched me had this theory rising through the ranks.

   He said he believes I am who I say I am, but that doesn’t mean he trusts me. From our first meeting he was suspicious, claiming that I was sent by some “he,” or I was a dangerous magic user. Since I wasn’t from Thedas, I obviously couldn’t be a mage or know this “he,” but I was still an unknown element to him, just as Thedas was to me. For all I knew, he might think a creature like straight from Alien could come bursting out of my chest any second and go on a rampage across Kirkwall. And if so, could I blame him? My phone, while commonplace technology for me, was as strange and remarkable as the existence of magic. Neither of us knew what to expect from the other. Yet that explanation didn’t sit entirely well either. There was no wariness or anger in his eyes, only a guarded thoughtfulness. Almost as if he were as intrigued by me as I was him.

   In the kitchen, I ladled out three servings of stew, my own thoughts thickening.

   I admit, more than wanting to understand his current behavior, I wanted to understand him. I’d never met anyone like him before, and from standing on the brink of his essence when we connected, I caught a glimpse. That glimpse tantalized. I wanted to know how he got to swinging that giant sword. I wanted to ask him about his tattoos that were like Merrill’s Dalish ones but were clearly different. I wanted to ask him how he could touch my heart in what I could only describe as magic and then have such disdain for the art. I wanted to understand the emotion I had felt writhing deep inside when he grasped my heart.

   I sighed, wiping a line of sweat from my brow after leaning over the bubbling pot.

   The whole point was moot since—fingers crossed—I’d be leaving tomorrow. Even if I was sticking around long enough, I wasn’t a socially adept person. Varric and Isabela made human interaction look easy, silver-tongued and charming; they even had me open up a bit, which was a feat in itself. Growing up on Earth, my friendships, if they could even be called that, had been few and fleeting, in part to being constantly uprooted by my mom, but also because I had grown accustomed to being by myself.

   As a kid I used to think there was something wrong with me, like I had been cursed. I’d do everything right but people would forget I was there. Teachers would call me by the wrong name. People would bump into me in hallways and streets with an “Oops, sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Apparently, no one could be bothered to see me anywhere. Once I even got locked in at a library that I had been going to regularly for months, even though I knew all the librarians by name and sat at the same table in view of the front desk every day after class. And if I stuck around in one area long enough to sit with someone at lunch, by the next week mom would surely have us packing again and then I’d be just another fading face.

   I felt like a bitter ghost haunting Earth, disconnected from the world around me. Over time, that bitterness morphed into apathetic acceptance. People wanted to treat me like a ghost? I’d be a ghost.

   It had its advantages, especially when I hit adulthood: no drama, no expectations, just a peaceful routine. My roommates had no interest is hanging out or being buddies; they only cared about my existence when rent was due. I even encouraged people not to talk to me, wearing headphones everywhere or sticking my nose in a book if I was in public spaces. I could almost convince myself it was by choice that I was alone.

   I picked up the tray and headed back to the front, planning on picking up Corff’s drinks on the second run.

   Loneliness was a state of being, like a program running in the background. I turned to books, art, music and long runs through my ever changing neighborhoods. The one constant person in my life was my mom, and, well…by the time she was out of the picture, I woke up and realized that I was completely alone.

   I continued on, swearing to change my life from what she molded me as a kid, but it was slow. And I remained alone. I kept having epiphanies about my life, and I longed for someone to talk them through. Words would pile up on my tongue but I had nowhere to unleash them, so I’d hold them in or write them out. I was so busy with work and finally believing in myself enough to enroll in college that I didn’t have much time to dwell on things like relationships. I made an effort though: smiling at people as I passed them on the sidewalk, asking my co-workers how their days off went, checking my homework with my classmates. I knew no one would classify me as a friend, but I knew I had been making progress.

   Then I got dropped in Thedas and everything changed. While being from a different world does a lot to distinguish you from other people, it didn’t explain how suddenly people became aware of me. At first I felt exposed—people noticed me, and even crazier, people wanted to know about me. In the space of the last week, I had more conversations with Anders, Isabela, and Varric than I had with people on Earth for the last six months. Thankfully, the conversations stayed light and veered away from the personal, but even so, I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. At times I was evasive, and at others, I felt like I was finally blo—

   “Blossom, my sweet, your scent is like an apple tree,” said a man in his mid forties with hair and beard as ruddy as his cheeks.

   I paused for a beat—Norah had singled him out when he’d first come in, calling him trouble. Of course, that would have been a better name than what the Dog Lords’ leader’s name actually was: Cor “The Bastard” Blimey. Trouble by any other name smells just as sour. I had kept our interactions through the course the evening to a minimum, mainly on account of his bad breath, but alas, my plan was foiled.

   That was another thing about Thedas. On Earth, men would almost immediately lose interest after catcalling, like they suddenly forgot I was there; an unusual quirk if the conversations I overheard from my female co-workers were anything to go on, but a quirk I had always been grateful for. But here, my string of luck ran out. Men were persistent, especially the intoxicated ones.

   I adopted a tactic that I’d seen run successful for many of my female counterparts back on Earth, and one I knew I was well versed in: the art of ignoring. Over the course of the week, it had a high success rate and it fit in well with my quiet persona I had been cultivating. But the success rate still wasn’t 100 percent, and this was a man who wasn’t used to being ignored. As I strode past, he nabbed my wrist, forcing me to halt with my tray perched precariously in hand.

   I shot him an icy glare that I hoped rivaled Fenris’. Apparently he was immune or I didn’t have as much practice, because he didn’t even blink as his grip grew painfully tight.

   “You are a vision of Andraste,” he waved his free hand wildly around. “You glow with the Maker’s light.”

   Comparing me to Thedas’ version of the Virgin Mary/Savior figure wouldn’t be what I called smooth. Oh yeah, and grabbing a woman.

   “If you don’t let go of me I might accidentally drop this tray on your head,” I seethed. “ _ _Hard__.”

   He tugged me closer and I barely managed to keep the tray from spilling on the floor. I swore under my breath, then scrunched up my face as his breath hit my face.  

   I weighed my options. Would it be possible to balance the tray and kick him in the balls? Or could I cut my losses and throw the contents of the tray right onto his stupid, satisfied expression? I’d been warned by Corff to not cause any trouble when hired, and while under most circumstances I’m sure he’d understand if I gave a lech his comeuppance, taking on the leader of one of the local gangs couldn’t be great for business. He had a set of menacing daggers strapped to his belt which looked like they’d seen action before. I hope they wouldn’t be seeing any action near me or anyone I knew in the near future.

   Just when I was preparing myself to crack a bowl over the bastard’s head with enough force to hopefully knock him out and allow me to scamper away, a gauntlet covered hand forcibly removed his hold on me.

   “You’ve had enough to drink, and everyone here has had enough of you,” Fenris said, eyes ice. The glare wasn’t directed at me but I still felt the chill emanating from him and shivered in response. Oh yeah, that’s how you do it.

   Cor’s Adam apple bobbed as he opened his mouth to speak, eyes flicking to the open spaces on either side of Fenris’ head. Fenris snatched Cor’s other hand, which had been inching toward his daggers, bending it at an unnatural angle. Cor gasped then swore vulgarly on Andraste, which just goes to show how much he actually revered her, but promptly shut up, eyes going large as Fenris leaned in close, growling, “You are fortunate you never touched the blades, or you’d have left this establishment in a body bag. Now, call off your men circling us, or your hounds will all be without lords.”

   Cor quickly nodded, then shook his head. I looked over my shoulder. The Dog Lords had left their tables and worked their way across the tavern room, poised on the balls of their feet, fingering their weapons of choice. At their leader’s signal, their fighting stances dropped, though plenty of dirty looks were shot our way.

   Fenris let go and Cor beat a hasty retreat, rubbing his arm as his eyes never left him, like he was a wild animal. Once near the door, surrounded by his men, he straightened his spine and shouted, “I will not forget this!”

   Fenris stared at him, looking completely unperturbed at the threat. “For your sake, pray that you do not.”  

   The Dog Lords’ leader swallowed and tried to look unshaken as he fled out the door, his gang dutifully tramping behind him, with some on the tail-end snickering.

   As soon as they were gone, I took a deep breath and sat the tray on the bar counter. The rest of the tavern’s noises filtered back in from where I had blocked them out. It was noticeably quieter now that the gang was gone, but only half the patrons seemed to notice the altercation, and they were already back in their cups. Like it was all normal to have armed men face off against each other. I needed a chair. Or a strong drink. Preferably both.

   Fenris continued to stare at the front door, as if daring Cor to come back so he could make good on his threats. His teeth ground together and the hand that pulled the man from me balled into a fist at his side. He was even faintly…glowing?

   “Fenris,” I said, but he didn’t look at me. “Fenris, he’s gone.”

   I chewed my bottom lip, considering, and then lightly touched the skin on his inner arm.

   And also touched one of his lit tattoos. A jolt of energy shot through me, the world fading as light sung to me, like a familiar tune I couldn’t name.

   We jerked away.

   I wiped my hands on my pants as if that could rub away the tingly sensation. “Sorry, I—

   Green eyes froze the next words in my throat. The guarded look had been stripped away, and a glimpse of wonder filled them as his hand touched his inner arm where I had. His forehead creased as words built up behind his lips, but when his arm returned to his side, I knew he had swallowed them.

   “Tell Hawke about them tomorrow. They may try to cause trouble.”

   Without looking, he placed payment on the counter, neatly avoiding a brush with my fingers. Then he strode outside, the door slamming behind him.

   “What was that all about?” Norah said as she sidled up to me, conveniently emerging from the back once the action was over. She glanced at the coin left and sucked in a breathe. “Must have made him really happy to earn that.”

   “I don’t think either of us knows,” I said, placing the gold sovereign in my pocket, imagining the residual heat came from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Sunday and chapter 5 is live! And it's my longest one yet! Mel gets a nickname! Anders gets someone looking after him for a change! Fenris confuses his friends while scaring the crap out of the local big shot of the week!  
> Seriously though, it was really fun to write the interaction with Fenris and Mel and the Dog Lords. There's so many gangs that challenge Hawke and crew over the course of the game that I just wanted to bring them to life in this story. And yes, Cor "The Bastard" Blimey is the actual canon leader of the Dog Lords. Too good to pass up. Thanks Dragon Age Wikia.


	6. Chapter 6

   I don’t know exactly what I expected when Garrett came to pick me up but it certainly wasn’t him busting in around the dawn hours with a backpack strapped to his back with one of those war dogs at his heels.

   “By my ancestors, do you have to make such an entrance?” Varric grumbled as he plodded down the Hanged Man’s stairs, his own backpack, albeit a smaller one, strapped to his back, Bianca held lovingly in his arms.

   “Of course I do. If I don’t you’ll sleep until I dump you out of bed.”

   “And get shot for your efforts.”

   “Exactly. This is the safest route. I must preserve my dashing good looks. What would Thedas do without me?”

   “Get the chance to sleep in for once,” Varric said, unable to stop a smile from creeping up his face despite his bleariness. “Don’t test me Hawke. Bianca is as cranky as I am and is looking for some action.”

   “And I’m sure she’ll find it. Now let’s round up the troop and head out.”

   I didn’t have much to carry. Everything I owned fit in a small pouch hanging off my belt. But one thing did weigh me down.

   “Action? Do you expect trouble?” Maybe Fenris mentioned the Dog Lords on his own?

   “It’s Kirkwall. There’s always trouble.” Varric said.

   “And we’re headed outside of Kirkwall. So, some trouble is to be expected, but usually of a different variety.”

   “The horned variety,” Varric filled in.

   “You mean the Qunari?”

   Varric sighed. “Tal-vashoth technically, but yeah, Qunari. Well, usually Qunari. I suppose other races have left the Qun, too.”

   “How am I supposed to tell if someone is part of the Qun?”

   “It’s complicated, Bolt. I’ll explain on the road and then you can explain that whole flying saucer thing.”

   I laughed. “Yeah, I can do that.”

   “Flying saucers and you’ve already earned yourself a nickname? This I have to hear,” Garrett said, holding the door open as Varric, the dog, and I walked out into the still quiet Lowtown. In the midst of Varric’s spinning and Garrett’s quick witted remarks, the Dog Lords was quickly forgotten as we headed to the alienage to pick up Merrill.

 

 

   When we arrived, Merrill flung the door open. “Oh you’re here.” She turned to look over her shoulder and shouted back into the house. “They’re here!” Then she said to us, “He showed up only a few minutes ago. I thought he would be busy with his clinic but he said he’s coming too.”

   Garrett raised an eyebrow. “I thought the same. I’ll be interested to learn the about the reason behind his change in plans.”

   “He said Lirene is running things while he’s gone,” Merrill supplied, bouncing on the heels of her bare feet. “Said it’d be good to have a healer along. Just in case.”

   Garrett nodded at this explanation but didn’t look convinced by the supplied reason. “Yes, well, more the merrier.”

   Anders popped up behind Merrill’s shoulder. “Ready to go?”

   “Wouldn’t be out here during this Maker foresaken hour if we weren’t,” Varric said pleasantly.

   “Oh,” Merrill’s bottom lip down turned. “And I was just setting up the cups for tea.”

   “There will be plenty of time for tea at camp, Daisy,” Varric said and she happily smiled at him and with a quick “I’ll get my things!” she ducked back inside her house, leaving the rest of us to stand at entrance.

   “So,” I ventured. “Does your dog have a name?”

   I looked at Garrett but Varric responded automatically, well trained by our conversations this past week.

   “It’s a mabari. A war hound. And they’re highly intelligent. Hawke thought it would be a good idea to give him the oh so imaginative name of Scrapper.”

   “It suits him. Doesn’t it boy?” Garrett said, leaning in to rub Scrapper’s head, making the hound’s tail beat a wild tempo against the floorboards as he stared up adoringly at his master, tongue lolling out the side of his giant jowls. Anders smiled at the display of affection between master and hound, though he looked a tad wistful as he patted the mabari’s side.

   “Can I pet him?” I asked. I never had pets growing up, but I knew better than to start petting a strange dog without asking, especially one bred for war—I could imagine what a war hound could do, especially one that was taller than Varric. Hell, I could see Varric mounting Scrapper and riding him into battle if he was the cavalry type. I suppressed that mental image lest I burst into a fit of giggles.

   “Sure,” Garrett said. “Scrapper, meet Mel. She’s with us, so look out for her, okay?”

   Scrapper gave a bark in the affirmative and looked expectantly at me. Maybe he really was that smart and could understand what we’re saying. I crouched down so I was face to face with him.

   “Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out a hand for him to sniff. Sniff he did and then gave a lick of approval. Slowly, I reached out and scratched him behind the ears, and the beat of his tail went staccato.

   “He likes you,” Garrett beamed.

   I smiled. I don’t know why earning his dog’s approval meant so much to me but it did. It felt like I was being slowly integrated into his circle of friends. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I felt included, accepted.

   Scrapper flipped on his back so I could rub his belly, which of course I did. Who could resist those puppy eyes? I was seconds away from baby talking him worse than Garrett.

   “I haven’t seen him take to someone so quick besides Bethany,” Garrett said, voice unusually subdued. I caught that tone change immediately, and looked up from my ministrations to see both Varric and Anders give Garrett sympathetic looks. Anders, expression turned tender, reached a hand to grip Garrett’s shoulder, and Garrett angled his body towards him, accepting the comforting touch.

   I might not be the most socially adept person, but I knew it in the clenching of my heart that Garrett had lost someone close to him.

   Ever reliable Varric mouthed “His sister,” to me and I nodded. I never had siblings. I couldn’t imagine what losing one would be like. Suddenly, I too wanted to stand up and grab Garrett’s other shoulder, let him lean on me for a change.

   “Got it!” Merrill hollered. She came barreling in from the other room, flinging an object in the air. “Scrapper!” she called, and suddenly I was landing on my butt from the force of the mabari flipping back onto all fours and leaping into the air to catch the flying object.

   And like that, the solemn moment was broken.

   “What was that you were saying earlier about more the merrier?” Varric asked Garrett, who was watching his hound chow down on a meat bone.

   “How long have you been saving that?” he asked Merrill.

   “Only a week or so. I knew you and Scrapper would be by sooner or later.”

   Garrett shook his head, smiling. “Always the thoughtful one.”

   I frowned as I straightened my shirt and stood. “Aren’t elves vegetarian?” Maybe I was mixing them up with the elves from other mythos.

   “No, though we do eat a lot of the vegetation growing in the wild. Our bows aren’t just for protection. You’ll see,” she said, her tone carrying a forced lightness to it. I got the impression she’d rather not see Dalish bows up close again anytime soon. I didn’t think much of Merrill being without her clan when I first met her, but after learning about Thedas over the past week, I had noted that it was unusual for a Dalish elf to live alone. Maybe she hadn’t left on the best of circumstances?

   “Right, well, we’ve got two more stops before we can head out, so let’s go,” Garrett said, and the gang fell in line as we marched to Hightown.

 

 

   “Fenris is coming?” Anders asked as we stood in front of a weathered mansion, looking like he might be reconsidering his decision to tag along.

   “Yes, he just doesn’t know it yet,” Garrett said, and opened the front door without bothering to knock.

   “Is this okay?” I asked, tentatively stepping over the threshold. Fenris seemed the type to value his privacy. I was certain he wouldn’t like unexpected visitors.

   As we stepped into the spacious foyer, my mouth opened in awe at the grand house claimed by decay. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams filtering in from holes in the roof or caught in cobwebs, and drafts brought the scent of mildew. This was more akin to a haunted castle than a home. How could Fenris live here?

   I could imagine a beast lurking in the west wing, gazing upon an enchanted, wilting rose. It was as good an explanation as any I had to explain Fenris’ distaste for all things magical. The remains of the furniture certainly weren’t volunteering any information, I noted as I stepped over the legs of a rotting hall stand.

   As we came to the main staircase I balked, and not just because I felt unsure of climbing steps in a house in such ill-repair.

   “A-are those bodies!?” I pointed at a set of corpses left sprawled near the right handrails in a state of decay worse than the house. I clapped the pointing hand over my mouth and backed up into Anders who caught my stumbling form by the shoulders. My head swiveled to each party member in turn, but no one seemed the slightest perturbed that one of their friends left corpses to greet guests. Not even sweet, seemingly innocent Merrill looked fazed; she patted off some invisible mark on her clothes and looked dreamily at the mansion’s tattered tapestries.

   Well, except Anders, but he hadn’t been thrilled to come here to begin with. Maybe the bodies had a part to play. I certainly could see why Fenris didn’t bother to lock his door. Any unwelcome person who let themselves in would likely let themselves out just as quick for fear of suffering the same end.

   Anders’ upper lip curled in distaste, but his face softened as he looked down at me. He gave a reassuring squeeze to my shoulders and guided me forward, his body to my right, his tall frame blocking the view of the gruesome scene. It was a small thing, but the blossom of warmth in chest further uncurled.

   We marched up the stairs, and as we came to a closed door, Garrett had the decency to knock this time. When no answer came, he banged, and for his trouble, he got yelled at in a foreign language. Tevene, wasn’t it? I didn’t have to speak it to know it was a curse, and I certainly didn’t have to see the owner’s face to know it was Fenris. I’d know that voice even in my dreams.

   The door slammed open, and there was Fenris: shirtless, hair mussed, and an emptied wine bottle clutched by the neck, as if on a moment’s notice it could be swung upside down and brandished as a club. He lowered it slightly as he zeroed in on Garrett.

   “Hawke,” he growled. Though his green eyes burned bright at the group’s intrusion (and alcohol I suspected), they were encircled by shadows. Had he slept at all since I saw him last night?

   I peered past Anders, whose body was angled in front of me, and into the room. Embers laid dying in the fireplace, a four poster bed bore a mess of covers, and more than one wine bottle had been strewn about. Still, it was more maintained than the rest of the mansion.

   “Good morning, Fenris. Care to join us on some adventuring?” Garrett said as if he had stumbled upon Fenris while out on a jaunt and hadn’t just barged into his house.

   Fenris looked at Garrett like he had been the one hitting the wine too hard. His eyes narrowed, on the verge of swearing at him again in Tevene no doubt, but froze when he saw me.

   “Today’s the day,” Garrett said, watching Fenris closely. “We could use a warrior in the party.”

   “Aveline’s busy then,” he surmised to Garrett, though his eyes remained on me, like a finger tracing the line of my jaw. I suppressed the desire to shiver under his gaze. What the hell was wrong with me? Probably for the best that he didn’t come.

   I almost convinced myself of this, but when he spun back into his room, my spirits fell. So he really wasn’t going to come after all? This was likely one of my last chances to get a better understanding of him, but he didn’t seem to share the desire to get to know me more. Like most people, he couldn’t wait to be rid of me, the bitter side of me whispered. But I swiftly halted that line of thinking. I was being unusually morose, and besides, who would want to go hiking hungover? No one normal, that’s who.

   Apparently Fenris was abnormal because he reappeared in the doorway fully dressed, complete with armor and giant sword. He was halfway to the staircase when, without looking over his shoulder, he said, “Coming?”

   I found myself smiling as we fell in behind him, leaving the musty mansion behind in favor of the waking merchants of Hightown setting up their stalls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom. Chapter 6. One more stop before the group heads off to see the Dalish. Any idea of where it'll be?  
> Just a quick note, due to other obligations, the next chapter won't be coming out till close to the end of the month, probably Sunday, Nov. 25. I'm thinking posting every two weeks might be my new schedule through December too since it gets so busy during the holidays. But hey, on the bright side, the next chapter will be about twice as long as this one, an odd concoction of whacky antics and angst.


	7. Chapter 7

   “Why are we stopping here?” Anders asked.

   “If I don’t have her report to Aveline, when I get back, Aveline will kill me. I like not being killed,” Garrett said as we mounted the steps to the Viscount’s Keep.

   I groaned, and not just because of Garrett’s running commentary. Why were there so many godddamn steps in this city? I always thought of myself as in good shape, but apparently I was softer than I thought because I lagged towards the back of the group. If I had to stay in Kirkwall for any length of time, I’d earn myself calves of steel.

   “No Isabela?” I asked Varric, who, due to his shorter legs, kept pace with me. He, however, didn’t show any signs of exertion. Definitely a lifelong citizen of Kirkwall.

   “She’s following a lead on her missing relic.”

   At my raised eyebrow, he shook his head; a story for another time then.

   As we entered the Keep, I gaped at the splendor. Now this place looked like the photos of those palaces in Europe. With the soaring ceiling and pillars I couldn’t hope to wrap my arms around, the place was awe inspiring. And intimidating. Important people dressed to impress milled about doing what I could only assume were important things.

   Or maybe just gossiping.

   Our group earned some side glances, clearly looking a little too on the rough side to belong here. I didn’t care. I had grown accustomed to such looks growing up and spending what little money I had on necessities, not trendy wardrobes. If people bothered to notice me at all. Their eyes slid over me like water a rock.

   But maybe that was because they weren’t paying me much attention. A cluster of people by the hallway focused their attention on Merrill and Fenris, eyes filled with disapproval. I didn’t understand why at first, but as we neared the nobility, I recalled Garrett and Anders telling me about the elves having to live in the alienage. Then I noticed all those staring were human and the only elves were servants scurrying about fulfilling their duties. Merrill and Fenris were definitely not servants.

   Merrill seemed unaware of their snide looks and whispered comments, and Fenris wore a mask of indifference but I couldn’t hide my simmering anger—my limbs trembled with it. These damn nobles and their blatant bigotry!

   In their eyes, Merrill and Fenris could never be more than servants and second class citizens. I could see it in their faces: what right did these elves have to carry weapons and walk into the Keep as if they had business here? For someone who had grown to appreciate the perks of invisibility, I surprised myself with the urge to walk in front of Merrill and Fenris, to shield them from these people’s poisonous stares. But I was at the tail end of the group and we were already passing them by.

   One man at the center of the group muttered something, loud enough that I knew he intended for us to hear as well as his companions: “Knife ears.”

   I had never heard those words uttered but I recognized them for the racial slur they were. Despite her oblivious manner, I knew Merrill heard it by the slight stiffening of her gate, and though Fenris gave no indication, he was too perceptive not to have noticed. They both continued on with the rest but I slowed to a halt.

   I felt like I watched myself from outside my body as I swung around to face the man. His expression remained smug, though it faltered at the furious glare I leveled at him. I took slow, measured steps towards him, and he only half listened to his companions as he watched me approach. He stood a foot taller than me, but I felt huge with the force of my rage, as if I could reach up to the ceiling and bring it crashing down on this haughty man’s deserving head.  

   His grin became lascivious as he eyed me from top to bottom, a purposeful crawl intended to make me uncomfortable. I wouldn’t let him. I took a deep breath, shaping my rage into something not easily malleable. Then I took hold of it, feeling its heft.

   I eyed him back, a simple accounting. He wore a blade at his belt but it looked more ornamental than practical, the metal somewhat dulled. His boots looked of fine make, clearly not the walking kind of my companions but they still showed wear. Even his rich robes weren’t tailored perfectly for his body. And there, under his fingernails, the stain of paint.

   I had him.

   I donned an amiable smile, the man’s confusion peeking through for a moment before he too smoothed it away with a mirroring smile. He would play my game, it read.

__But I will win._ _

   I made my move.

   “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to commend you on your work. You are quite the artisan!”

__Your turn._ _

   The man’s confusion more than peeked through, but at the curious looks of his peers, he stretched his smile wider, not wanting to look the fool. He puffed his chest out for good measure. “Ah, your praise is too high. It’s only some hobby work.”

 _ _Wrong move.__  I almost showed my teeth.

   “Arthur,” said the noblewoman standing next to him, her smile a little too nice. “I didn’t know you dabbled in the arts. You must show me your work sometime.” Her eyes flickered to his nails. I wasn’t the only one who had noticed the discrepancies in his appearance, but my social breach opened the way for the well-bred to comment too.

   “He really is,” I insisted. “Arthur, I must order another one exactly like it.”

   The woman and man zeroed in on the word order. They smelled blood in the water. Order meant business, and business meant money. Nobles do not ply common trades. That was beneath them. Unless, of course, they were in financial constraints.

__Thanks for the tip, Varric._ _

   And if they had noticed his nails, then they must have already surmised his predicament from his state of dress. Sprinkle in enough from what they can ascertain with their own eyes, and they’ll believe the rest.

   “I actually felt like I was sitting on a throne,” I merrily pressed on, seemingly oblivious to his companions’ rapt attention. “Such attention to detail! If you’re still taking commissions, I’d like to order two more for my friends.” I jerked my thumb down the hall, right where Fenris and Merrill stood.

   The woman snapped open her fan, cleverly hiding the smile crossing her face but it did nothing to hide the gleam in her eyes: not only was he painting by commission likes a tradesmen but he was taking jobs for elves!

   Arthur’s smile froze in place, though his eyes darted around the room looking for a swift exit.

   Ah, but you must stay for the grand finale, Arthur.

   “What kind of art do you do?” the older man who had remained quiet till now asked, no longer able to contain his curiosity. His brow wrinkled and hands clasped behind his back, giving him a studious, refined air.

   I threw on the most enthusiastic face I could hold and splayed my arms wide: “Chamber pots.”  

   Arthur’s face shattered. The woman threw a gloved hand over her mouth but a titter still escaped as the man’s wrinkled brow shot up in comprehension.

   “Let’s catch up next week, all right? We’ll talk details then.” I waved cheerily and spun on my heel to find my own companions. From behind, I heard Arthur sputter, finally regaining his voice, but I was already too far to hear his denials to his “friends.” Then I looked to my stunned party.

   And like that, I returned to my body, the rage melting away.

   Who am I and what did I just do?

   My cheeks flamed and I smothered them with my hands. I stopped when I saw other boots besides my own peeking below.

   “Well…shit” Varric said.

   “What did I just do?” I whispered, still hiding my face.

   “Just got the Amell family disinvited to all future social gatherings of the Marnettes’,” Garrett said. “Excellent. There’s nothing like listening to Lady Marnette try to sing after dinner—she sounds like a goat, which makes their overcooked mutton they like to serve turn in my stomach. Frankly, I could do without both.”

   “I think Hawke meant to say is that you rightly knocked Lord Marnette down a rung or two,” Varric said.

   “And found yourself another enemy,” Fenris ground out.

   “Another?” Garrett said. “I don’t think we’re counting Lady Marnette. She’ll never hear her Lord complain over all the yodeling.”

   I shook, laughter spilling over my hands, and then they were falling away, letting the world back in. Varric wore a wry grin and Anders’ hand tried to contain his own laughter.

   Garrett patted me on the arm. “Don’t worry. Half of Kirkwall wants me dead, and yet, here I am.”

   “And the other half?” I asked, my laughter fading out.

   “They just haven’t met him yet.” Fenris said, arms folded in front of him. He was not taking this so lightly, and from his earlier comment, I knew why.

   Garrett threw his head back and guffawed, slinging an arm around me as he guided us to the barracks. “Are you sure you want to go back to Earth? This place is livelier with you.”

   “That’s what Kirkwall needs: more liveliness,” Anders said, bemused.

   “That’s what I’ve been saying,” Varric said Garrett.

   I gave Varric a side glance from over Garrett’s arm. “That’s not exactly what you’ve been saying. I’m a well of story fodder and decent food.”

  “Well it’s what I’m saying now,” Varric said with warmth.

   For a moment, I could believe in the warmth of his words, the heat from Garrett’s body, the fond smile Anders’ wore, and even Fenris’ thinly-disguised worry. Then the rational part of me came back.

   My grin felt forced on my face, and Garrett’s arm heavy on my shoulder—I shrugged from underneath it to walk on my own. I was getting too swept up in their camaraderie, their jovialness and inclusion. They were being nice to the alien in their midst, and I appreciated that, but niceness wears thin overtime as would my novelty. I couldn’t trust in it. I knew how those you trust the most could shock you.

   I fingered my throat, memories from years ago bidding for my attention. I wouldn’t give them an audience, not now, not with eyes on me. But I could recall them later, in the privacy of darkness, to let them flicker across my face, to remind me to be careful. I may have given some of them away—Garrett took my removal of his arm in stride, but his, Anders’ and Fenris’ eyes all lingered on me till I broke free and walked at the head of the group.

   “And what, be a career barmaid serving shady people? Sounds healthy,” I shot back at Varric, in attempt at keeping with the light mood.

   There were a few chuckles but no one said anything more. We were at the barracks. The halls filled with guards, some chatting, others checking a roster while some hoisted shields like Aveline’s and headed out on patrol. We went straight to a closed office door where we heard voices coming from behind.

   Funnily enough, Garrett didn’t go bursting in without knocking.

   Standing to the side, Merrill approached, touching my arm bird-light.

   “I may seem a bit slow. I’m not. I’m just not familiar with all this,” she waved her arms around in a small, half circle which I supposed meant to indicate Kirkwall. To that I could relate. I nodded, encouraging her to continue. “Though I suppose it must be more for you coming from a different world so mine isn’t as strange by comparison. Sorry, rambling. What I mean is that I understood what you did. Earlier, with the human noble. Thank you, lethallan, for standing for me.”

   I gave her arm a squeeze, the words unspoken: how could I not?

   “But, lethallan?” I asked.

   “Yes?” she responded.

   “Uh, what does lethallan mean exactly?”

   “Oh, it’s elvish for ‘friend.’”

   My stomach clenched and I nodded numbly. She claimed me as a friend with an ease I envied. I couldn’t recall it ever being so easy with others on Earth. My lips parted but no words came. Luckily Merrill was distracted when a guard exited the office. Garrett lead us in and I stiffly followed.

   “Hawke,” Aveline said, glancing up from the papers on her desk. Her eyes found me at the back of the pack. “Amelia. I see you’ve come. Good.” She flipped through her papers and pulled a set out. “I’ve already gotten everyone else’s statements, so you all do not need to be here.” She didn’t bother to watch as everyone exited the way they had come, the door clicking behind them.

   Aveline gestured towards the seat across from her. “Please. Sit.”

   I sat as instructed, hands twisting in my lap.

   When she glanced up, her eyes narrowed. “Hawke,” her voice warned.

   I looked behind: Garrett remained.

   “I wasn’t there, but I’d like to learn what happened in greater detail also,” he looked to me and added, “if you don’t mind.”

   I nodded, feeling somewhat better that he was remaining. Aveline hadn’t given me any reason to feel nervous, but I couldn’t deny that I was—and Garrett’s presence helped. Aveline sighed but didn’t argue.

   Garrett pulled up a chair to sit me beside me. Aveline dipped her quill and held it poised over the page. “What’s the first thing you remember in Thedas?”

   I had recounted this all before. I could do it again. This was just on the record, that’s all.

   As if he knew, Garrett’s hand found my leg, a comforting anchor.

   I took a deep breath.

   “I woke to someone pulling my hair, dragging my body. I got away. He thought I was already dead. I think they were some kind of scavengers.”

   “Why do you think they thought that?” Aveline asked.

   I swallowed, hands playing with the edge of my shirt. When I officially introduced myself, I hadn’t remembered everything from my first waking in Thedas. Even that first night at the Hanged Man, the memory of my attack remained fragmented, and when put back together, the picture missed a few pieces. But they came back throughout the week. When they did, I tried to block them out, not wanting to fit the puzzle together, to remember the fear, desperation and panic of that day. I fingered my neck, thinking to years past. It wouldn’t be the first time I tried to set such memories aside.

   Garrett squeezed my leg, a reminder I wasn’t alone in this. My rational side told me I should shake him off, that I was setting myself up for hurt. But perhaps, for a little while, it wouldn’t be so bad.

   “I was covered in blood.”

   Both Garrett and Aveline stilled.  

   “Was it yours?” Garrett asked.

   “I-I don’t think so. I felt fine besides all the hair pulling. That and a little dizzy.”

   Garrett and Aveline shared a concerned glance. She scribbled a hasty note.

   “Then what happened?” she asked.

   “Then another man came, his gang leader I suppose. Thought I was a walking corpse and pulled out this big knife. The first man ran for more men. I ran in the opposite direction, trying to get away.”

   “But you didn’t, did you?” Garrett said. Aveline shot him look.

   I nodded. “I tried to get away but he caught me, and we fought.” My throat began to close up, preventing me from elaborating. My legs tensed, and Garrett’s hands began to rub small, soothing circles through my leggings.

   Aveline took mercy on me. “From the reports received by Anders, Fenris, Varric and Merrill, they were in the area and heard the alarm raised about walking corpses. They ran to investigate as the gang rallied, and both groups converged to where they found you underneath the leader. Fighting ensued.”

   “Oh,” was all I managed.

   Aveline rubbed her temples. “The leader was beheaded, but there were burn marks on his body. Both Anders and Merrill denied using any fire magic, and none of the gang’s members appeared to be mages.”

   The final piece fell into place, and I shuddered at the memory of the man’s hands at my throat. I hugged my arms around myself, staring at the floor unseeingly.

   “When the world had nearly gone dark, there was a rush of energy and bright, white light,” I whispered so softly I barely heard myself speak. Anders’ magic was blue. It couldn’t have been him. “What’s Merrill’s magic look like?”

   “Purple, with a bit of green,” Garrett responded. He looked more serious than I had ever seen him, teeth grinding together as he looked at Aveline.

   “Anders, Varric, Fenris and Merrill all confirmed they were not attacked by a mage from the gang and no staffs or lyrium potions were found amongst the fallen. I do not think the magic came from them…” Aveline said.“Are you sure you’re not a mage?”

   “Absolutely. I’m think I would have noticed,” I said. “Besides, there is no such thing as magic on Earth.”

   “But there is on Thedas,” Aveline said.

   “How old are you?” Garrett asked, the question seeming random.

   “I’ll be 23 this April.”

   Both of them raised their eyebrows at me.

   “I don’t know how to convert to your Thedas calendar but in a few months I’ll be 23.”

   “She’s too old to have any powers emerging. The oldest on record is 14 years of age.” Aveline said to Garrett, tapping the tip off her quill on the page, a blot of ink pooling. To me, she said with a bittersweet smile, “My deceased husband Wesley was a Templar. I picked up some things.”

   I nodded again, unsure of what to say.

   “Can you remember anything leading up to when you came here?” Garrett asked.

   I shook my head. Unlike my attack, I had been actively trying to recall what had come before since it had to have the answers for how I managed to come to Thedas. But it still remained a mystery. I’d have better luck trying to remember the exact moment, after closing my eyes, I fell asleep.

   I noticed Aveline hadn’t been writing anything for a while. It was my turn to raise a brow at her.

   “Mages and magic are left out of the report unless I think there is a dangerous mage on the loose,” she explained. “We can’t determine if anyone was targeting you with magic and I don’t want this report to fall into…extreme hands. The last thing I need is for Darktown to be upturned by Templars searching for any hint of apostates.”

   “They might just pick up innocent mages, like Anders,” Garrett added.

   “But, you were married to a Templar. I don’t understand.”

   “I was, but I make up my own mind on these matters. The Templars here are more extreme than the ones in Ferelden, and while I may not agree with all of Anders’ and Merrill’s choices, I do not want to take their choices away. As long as they follow the law and keep their noses out of trouble, there’s no need for me to involve them. I will not invite trouble for them by leaving their identities in reports when they’re not necessary. And, they are my friends.”

   The dark feelings from before returned. How? How could they make it all look so easy?

   I tamped down on that train of thought quick but my leg tensed and Garrett’s hand stilled.

   “Was there anything else you wanted to ask?” I needed to get out of here.

   Aveline shook her head. “No, but if you remember anything else before you find your way home, pass it along.”

   I nodded, standing. “Thank you for looking into the matter.”

   Aveline tucked her papers away, eyes on me, seeing too much. I turned and headed for the door. Garrett stood to follow. “Mel—

   “Hawke. A moment,” Aveline called. Garrett stopped, jaw clenching before he seated himself again at the edge of his chair.

   I should be sighing in relief. I needed a moment to compose myself. Too many memories were flickering in my head, too many dark feelings swelling. I didn’t need him questioning me.

   I left her office but I was not alone. The rest of Garrett’s gang waited. For a moment, I resented their presence, their eyes on me. On Earth I could always count on time to be by myself. Even as I walked down crowded city streets, no one tried to read my face.

   Like Anders. He wore that concerned expression of his. “You look pale. Are you feeling all right?”

   “Fine,” I said, staring at the floor. I was physically fine, and my memories and emotions were my problem to sort out. I wasn’t going to burden others with them.  

   Anders frowned, reaching out a hand, most likely to use his magic to diagnose me. I caught it an inch from my face. I couldn’t let him recklessly use his magic in public. Not for someone like me. And as much as I wanted to lean into his hand and seek comfort from his touch, that would be recklessness on my end.

   “Really, I’m fine,” I said, slipping on a smile. The longer I wore it, the more natural it would feel.

   He lowered his hand, still watching me carefully. I angled away from him, cutting off his gaze.

   And then felt Fenris’ on me. He leaned against the wall, a casual pose, but I saw the tension in his body, how he had positioned himself so he could see the door and the intersecting hallways. Green eyes had darkened at Anders’ and my interaction, and I couldn’t be sure as to why.

   “Hawke?” he asked.

   “Speaking with Aveline.”

   “And I am done with him for the moment,” she sighed from behind me, making me jump. “Guardsmen Donnic, we both have patrol in a quarter bell. We best head out,” she said to the man chatting with Varric and Merrill.

   “As should we,” Fenris said, straightening. His eyes bore into Anders hovering behind me.

   I moved away from Anders, Fenris and Garrett, leading our group up the stairs and out the Keep, freeing myself from the prying gazes of those behind.

 

 

 

   Anders hated silences. He’d string as many words together as he could to fill up the empty spaces. Earlier he spoke of funny pranks apprentice mages would get up to in the Circle. Now he was cooing about cats. Others might have found it annoying, but to me, it was strangely endearing. I had broken the dam on his lips from my visits to the clinic, and there was no stopping him. Each word that tumbled past tugged a bit of my poisoned mood from me, lightening my step. Anders, too, seemed lighter around me than when I first met him, which made me even happier to listen to him.

   When the gates of Kirkwall ground closed behind us, I stopped for a moment. It was enough for Anders to also pause from where he had been walking beside me.

   “Something wrong?” he asked.

   “Nothing,” I said, hoping to erase the concerned look on his face, but it only grew at my response. I wasn’t used to anyone noticing me enough to inquire about how I was feeling. Instinctively, like earlier, I wanted to brush it off, to go back to mulling over my troubles alone. Most would let me without a second thought, but not Anders. From the intensity of his focus, I knew he actually cared about my response. I already brushed him off once at the Keep, but I got the sense I couldn’t do that forever with him. I sighed, trying to find the words to describe my feelings. It wasn’t something I was used to doing. But with Anders, I felt safe enough to try.

   “It feels so final. I mean, we don’t even know if Marethari will be able to help me. And yet, I feel like everything is about to change.”

   Ahead, Garrett and Fenris continued on, neither of them having noticed us lagging behind. A hundred paces ahead, Merrill stopped to pick a flower off the path as Varric waited for her, eyes scanning the surrounding hills. Only Scrapper, tongue lolling out, craned his neck around to check on us. I began walking again, and Anders fell into step beside me.

   “Are there changes you fear?”

   I laughed, the sound bitter. “My whole time in Thedas has been nothing but change, and a lot of it not for the better. And yet, some of the changes aren’t the kind I thought I’d fear.”

   “I saw your face when Merrill called you lethallan,” he said. “You seemed surprised, both wary and pleased. Why?”

   I struggled with my response. The poison from before had not been entirely removed by Anders’ words, the roots still planted deep. There they would remain unless I dug them up.

   “I’m not used to…” I tugged at the resisting words.

   “Having friends?”

   I nodded, grin wry. “What gave it away?”

   “You remind me of myself.”

   “Of you?”

   He looked into the distance, as if looking across time.“Of me and others from the Circle. Our fates were not our own. We’d never know when someone might be transferred, wouldn’t pass their Harrowing, or simply…disappear. To care for another invited a future of pain as either friend,” he said, eyes sliding to me, “or lover.”

   My breath caught in my throat at the dull pain aching in his eyes. My hand twitched at my side, brushing across his fingers. His reached out, interlocking with mine, and I held on tight.

   “Who did you lose?”

   “My lover, Karl. He was made tranquil.”

   I sucked in a sharp breath. Anders had told me about the Rite of Tranquility at his clinic. It cut the mage off from the Fade and magic, but also to emotions. A lobotomy, basically, and just as barbaric.

   Anders eyes found Garrett up ahead. “When I first came to Kirkwall, it was my mission to free Karl. With the help of Garrett and his friends, I was able to break into the Chantry to find him. It was…too late. I ended it for him just as he would have done it for me.”

   “Anders, I’m so sorry,” I said, though the words felt entirely inadequate to describe the way my heart clenched in my chest.

   “Thank you,” he said. He gave me a bittersweet smile and squeezed my hand. “My point is that Hawke and the rest are good people. It took me time to learn to trust others once away from the Circle, and certainly, not everyone that I came across had good intentions towards me, but it happened. I don’t know what shaped you to be like me, and I won’t pry. But it’s my hope that you’ll come to trust us too, and come to think of this as one of the positive changes.”

   Our hands fit perfectly together, swinging between us. Too perfectly. I concentrated on them, blinking furiously. I forced a laugh, “Are you offering to be my lethallan too?”

   His free hand tilted my face towards him, warm brown eyes finding mine. “Or you could easily become ma vhenan,” he said.

   My brow creased. Merrill said lethallan meant friend, but perhaps the word usage was gender or case specific.“You speak elvish now?”

   “No,” he said, looking away, anywhere but at me, as if suddenly embarrassed. “Just picked up a few words and phrases from ancient texts in the Circle and from some old friends.”

   “So what you’re saying is…”

   “Mel, you do not have to offer to be my friend. I have already considered you so, and I had hoped, you had already thought the same of me,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on our entwined hands.

   His use of my shortened name was not lost on me. That night in the clinic, I did tell him my friends called me Mel. I had meant it more as a figure of speech, but perhaps he had taken it literally. It warmed me to think that all this time when I was fretting he had already accepted me. Garrett and everyone all made friendship seem so easy, and a much quieter part of myself still worried that I was venturing out onto early spring ice. But the warmth still beckoned.

   “I do,” I said quickly.

   “Good,” he said. “We’ve slowed down too much. Let’s catch up before they send Scrapper to find us.”

   Hand in hand, we raced up the hill, and while the roots still laid burrowed inside me, clumps of poisonous thoughts trailed behind. As we crested, Varric looked at our linked hands and grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Mel,  
> Ma vhenan does not mean what you think it means.  
> Sincerely,  
> All of Us 
> 
>  
> 
> And there, as promised, chapter seven out in two weeks time, and it is more than 5k words. Woot! Chapter eight is tentatively scheduled for Sunday, Dec. 9. Till next time! You can reach me in the comments section or on my Tumblr at violetiris-ak. I love interacting with you all.


	8. Chapter 8

   There’s nothing like a horde of giant spiders to make you lose your breakfast. Which was what I was doing in the bushes off the path. Anders’ cool blue magic pooled inside me, settling my stomach as he held back my hair.

   I was just rinsing my mouth when Garrett peeked over at us.

   “What was that?” I demanded.

   “Giant spiders.”

   “I gathered as much,” I said, scowling. “Is everything bigger in Thedas?”

   “Somethings,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. I groaned and threw my empty waterskin at him, which he dodged with a laugh. If I was going to be stuck in Thedas for a while, I’d need to improve my aim.

   “You all right there, Bolt?”

   Varric pulled one of Bianca’s bolts from a crumpled spider, goo trickling in its wake. Scrapper scratched behind an ear, not at all caring about the gigantic arachnid corpse that dwarfed him. Even dead, it still looked predatory with the way its body hunched, as if ready to lunge, its remaining eyes staring past Scrapper to me.

   “No,” I answered, closing my eyes to the sight though my mind decided to give me an instant replay anyways.

   When the spiders came at us from around the bend in the road, the group fell into a well practiced formation. I had been back by Anders, Merrill and Varric as Garrett and Fenris charged, Scrapper leading the way. Anders rained down fire before warrior and rogue were in striking distance with their blades, before Scrapper could launch himself onto the back of one. Vines twisted around Merrill as she spun her staff around like the steps of an exotic dance, bolts of purple magic hammering into the incoming mass. Varric laughed and called to Garrett about his score, Bianca unloading bolt after bolt with deadly precision.

   Giant spiders that they were, they never had a chance against the Kirkwall crew.

   Except for the one that had circled around the hill, coming at us from behind.

   I’ve never been scared of spiders. I usually let them outside if I found them in my apartment—no shrieks or whacking at it with a broom from a distance. But having one as big as a horse scuttle at you, pincers twitching, all eyes trained on you, is the stuff of nightmares.

   Of course I screamed.

   A roll of energy came off Anders, stunning the creature in its steps as Varric blinded it with shots from Bianca. Then Fenris was there, leaping higher than any Olympic champion, felling the spider in a splash of gore. It laid dead a half dozen feet away. I had taken in the oozing remains of the eyes, the dismembered, bristled legs, and the guts on my clothes and hands and immediately rushed to the bushes.

   No one knew what to say to my honest answer of “no.” Apparently being attacked by giant spiders was on the trip itinerary because no one else looked perturbed by the recent turn of events. Perhaps if I remained in Kirkwall long enough I’d develop nerves of steels to go along with the calves.

   Varric, having retrieved as many bolts as he could, whipped out a dagger with a practiced movement and began to extract venom from the spider’s corpse. Nausea rose up in me all over again, only Anders’ magic keeping me from puking again as I mentally chanted __nerves of steel, nerves of steel__. I took fistfuls of leaves and scrubbed at my hands and clothes, trying to get rid of the spider remains, but my efforts were only partially successful.

   I sighed. “Are we almost at the Dalish camp?”

   Finally someone else looked uncomfortable. “Yes,” Merrill said.

   “Well, let’s go,” I said. The sooner we spoke with the Dalish, the sooner I could go home where the spiders weren’t Shelob-sized.

   We headed out, I could’ve sworn that Garrett and Fenris walked closer to Anders and I than before, Garrett in front, Fenris to my right. If there were any more nasties waiting, I would be protected at all sides. A trace of a smile found me. Strangely, I found them being close, each no more than an arm’s length away, as comforting as my memory of the cottage by the water.

 

 

 

   When Merrill called me shem, I took it as a word for human, nothing more. But when the Dalish sentries called me shem, I knew it for an insult. I wasn’t particularly bothered by it, though it did signal that perhaps we wouldn’t be finding the help we sought.  

   Merrill lurked behind Garrett, as if hoping to not be noticed, though of course she was, and was met with looks of disdain by the sentries.

   “You have no business here. Especially not with her,” the blond one sneered. “Begone shem.”

   Garrett stood taller, effectively shielding her.

   “Me? Shem? Are you certain? I could have sworn I kept my self-righteousness and pointy ears here somewhere.”

   “On your way, __shemlen.__ Take your blood mage with you.”

   Wait, Merrill was a blood mage? I suppose that could explain her reluctance to be around her people, especially if they had rejected her. I’d been getting the impression that blood mages weren’t the kind of person one invites home for tea in Thedas, so that explained the sentries’ hostility. After all, someone tried to knife me because he thought I was one, even after he realized I wasn’t a walking corpse. Merrill had never given me reason to think she was anything but sweet, and no more deadly than any of Garrett’s companions.

   A swell of empathy rose in me. I patted said blood mage’s back, and she seemed to gain strength from Garrett’s and my support.

   She squared her shoulders and stepped up. “We need to see the Keeper. It’s important.”

   “What’s important is you keeping your foul magics away from the clan.”

   I was getting a headache. Running all over Kirkwall, dealing with uppity nobles and emotional baggage, and to top it off, spiders, was too much for one day. Now this? The sun was already setting behind the mountains, and the fires in camp looked welcoming even if their tenders didn’t. I didn’t want to be out in the hills where who knows what deadly thing could be lurking.

   I shuddered, hugging my arms to myself. I felt Fenris’s gaze on me, then he was stepping to the fore. “If Keeper Marethari doesn’t want us to here she can turn us away herself,” he said.

   “Which I will not be doing,” an elderly elf said, moving into the torch light. “Hawke, good to see you again. Merrill, are you returning to us?”

   “I am not, Keeper,” she said.

   “I had hoped,” she smiled sadly, then her eyes took us all in, resting on me. “You came to see me?”

   How did she know that? I nodded.

   “We can discuss it by the fire. Come, our hunters came back successful. There is food to share.”

   “We thank you for your hospitality,” Garrett said.

   “Ma serannas, Keeper,” Merrill said with an incline of her head as we followed Marethari into the camp, the sentries flanking us as two others took their place by the path.

   Well, at least is was unlikely any spiders would be showing up for dinner. A tension I didn’t know I had been carrying loosened within me as we each took turns washing the dirt of the road off our hands from a water basin. The hallas were like ghosts in the dim light at the perimeter of camp, and many of the Dalish watched us closely, more curious than hostile. I tried smiling at them but mainly I was ignored.

   Marethari invited us to sit by a fire in front of her aravel. From experience, I imagined, Merrill claimed the log by the aravel’s side, which served as a back rest. I quickly followed suit. When a body sat at my unclaimed side, I turned, expecting Anders, maybe even Garrett, but it was Fenris. The surprise only lasted a moment, then I remembered how he liked to have his back protected. Of course.

   An elven woman passed out bowls of stew. When she got to me, I mimicked Merill’s own words of thanks, “Ma serannas.”

   The woman actually smiled at me. I felt warmed by my success as well as the aromatic stew held between hands. I wouldn’t have tried it a week ago, but back then, I didn’t have anyone I could confidently call friend. Now I had two.

   I glanced across the fire to Anders who sat next to Garrett, the skin around his eyes crinkling at something Garrett said to him in a tone too low for me to catch. The flush on his skin, from the heat of the fire or whatever Garrett said, had me imagining the warmth of his hand holding mine. Garrett looked from Anders to me, catching me staring. It was my turn for my face to heat, the intensity of his gaze startling. I turned my attention to my food, and out of the corner of my eyes, Garrett shifted to angle his body back to Anders.

   Throughout dinner, I questioned Merrill on the contents of the stew, the meat and roots, and the herbs used for seasoning. She was more than happy to chatter about it, clearly missing the food from home. I wondered why, if she missed it so much, she chose to live in the alienage instead of with her people. It probably had something to do with being a blood mage.

   At the end of the meal, I leaped up and began collecting dishes. Maybe it was habit from working as a server. Maybe it was because I wanted to not be an inconvenient guest for the Dalish. Or maybe it was because the incident with the spiders highlighted how much of a dead weight I was for the whole group. Probably a combination of all three.

   “Oh, here, let me help,” Anders said, moving to rise, but I waved him off.

   “I’ve got it. You all must be exhausted from all the fighting. Let me do it.”

   Anders wore his customary concerned frown but sat back down, half watching me and half listening to the serious conversation Merrill, the Keeper and Garrett were having—something about acquiescing a tool to repair her mirror.

   I caught the attention of the Dalish woman who had smiled. She was coming over to take the dishes from me.

   “Just point me towards a bucket and I’ll go ahead and wash them,” I said.

   She seemed as surprised at my willingness to wash dishes as she was at my use of elvish. She pointed across the camp, past the herd of halla. “No wash bucket. We take them to the river running behind that hill.”

   At the mention of the word river, my blood froze. But I couldn’t back out now, not after I offered. I nodded, grabbed the proffered rag, and headed in the direction pointed.

__It’s only water Mel. It’s not going to jump out and strangle you.__  

   I could get away with bathing in a sink on Earth because my roommates were more or less oblivious to me and the fact I never touched the tub; living in the middle of the U.S. in a big city also meant that I never had to be by any large natural body of water either. But I knew it was bound to happen here if I stayed long enough.

   Didn’t mean I’d have to go in though, just dip my hand in, maybe up to my forearms. Yeah, I could handle that. Definitely.

   I probably said that last bit out loud because one of the hallas stopped chewing its cud long enough to bleat at me. I laughed nervously as I went past and stood at the ridge. The water reflected the fading light, innocuously rolling along. The air was pleasantly cool, a stark difference from the smoggy air and heat of Kirkwall during the day. There were even trees gently swaying. As a kid, I might have found it peaceful. Most people would. But that was before.

   I marched down the hill and right to the bank, setting the dishes to the side and rolling up my sleeves. But then I stood there, immobile, staring.

   “If you’re waiting for the light to get stronger, you’ll be standing for some time.”

   Fenris stood on the ridge, surveying the land past the creek to the last rays of light slipping past the hills. He turned his attention on me, and began down the slope, footsteps silent. He stopped a pace away, waiting for a response.

   “I was taking in the view,” I said, not daring to look at him as I said it. I squatted by the water’s edge and grabbed a bowl. I dipped it, the icy water numbing my hands.

   It wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t even that deep. Well, at least at this exact spot. But who knew farther in…

   “At that pace we’ll be out here till they send a search party for us.”

   “We?” I asked, hearing two soft thuds against the sand. His gauntlets glinted in the fading light on the bank.

   Then he was beside me, hands taking the bowl I still held in the water. The touch of warm skin against mine made me gasp, though I tried to brush it off as being surprised at his help. What was more surprising though was how he didn’t quickly pull away like I had come to expect. As if he were uncertain. Curious even. I admit, I was curious too.

   Too soon, he was pulling away. Back to business as normal.

   “Here,” he said, handing a bowl he just scrubbed. “It’ll be faster if you dry.”

   That last part was debatable. From looking over his shoulders, his movements had betrayed his lack of familiarity with the process of dish washing. Not that it was much of a surprise considering the state of his mansion. But he was willingly helping. He even spoke several sentences. It was some kind of progress between us, and I felt better not being alone with my fears.

   I accepted the washed bowl, taking the drying cloth and wiping it down. Seeing the warrior bent over the domestic task with such a serious expression on his face made me smile. I carefully schooled my face blank every time he passed a dish, but as soon as his back was turned again, my smile would reappear. We worked like that, him freezing his hands in the mountain water without a word as he methodically passed each dish to me, and I automatically dried and stacked the dishes, my eyes never leaving his too serious face.

    When we finished, he turned his attention to me. It seemed like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.

   Apparently, I also didn’t know how because the next thing I said was: “A really dark evening we’re having.”

   Funny how before the water seemed foreboding to me, but now it looked like a refuge. Maybe I should throw myself into the creek after all. Hopefully I would float away like the Lady of Shalott to Camelot, or anywhere on Earth would be acceptable as long as it wasn’t here where a pair of incredulous green eyes could find me.  

   I ducked my head as I grabbed for the stack of dishes. I would go back to camp and pretend none of this ever—

   Laughter froze me.

   Fenris, still crouched on the bank, had one hand over his stomach and the other his mouth. The light in his eyes danced, pulling me in. And that laugh—it rolled through me, reverberating between my ribs and echoing in my ears. I never stopped to consider how unlikely the sight of Fenris looking so…lighthearted was until I saw it. Or how charming.

   “Well, it is,” I said, smiling slightly. I couldn’t help it. Even if he was laughing at my fumble, it was worth it. Perhaps I ought to fumble more often if the wariness that hung over him like cloud thinned enough to let in some light.

   Arms resting on knees, he watched me intently. “You are…” he said slowly as if unsure of what word fit next. Neither did I, not really. If only it could be so simple for someone else to come along and fill in all our blanks.   

   He stood, his body close to mine.

   “...heading back to camp now?” I suggested, breathless.

   His lips crooked, almost a smirk. “For one.”  

   Neither of us moved to leave, hesitant to disturb this fragile moment that found us. It felt similar to how I stumbled upon a stag in the wood once as child out playing. He had lifted his head, antlers reaching like branches thirsty for the sun, dark eyes inquisitive. We watched each other for a dozen heartbeats. I barely dared to breath for fear the creature would take himself away. His ears flicked forward, black nose twitching, as if finding me an equally fascinating sight. We might have remained there if a jay hadn’t come flapping through the grove. That flash of blue settling on a nearby tree was all the distraction needed for the woodland king to disappear.

   Something drew Fenris’ gaze past me. It went flinty.

   “Your escort is here. You should practice more caution. He is more dangerous than he appears to be.”

   “My wha—oh.”

   Anders stood at the top of the ridge. He must have come to see if we were doing okay. I couldn’t make out his expression in the dark, but from the angle of his head I guessed he must have spotted us at the bottom of the slope.

    “Fenris, I don’t know what you mean but Anders—

   “Is not someone who is safe for you to visit on a whim, let alone wander around Darktown to get to.”

   A retort jumped to my tongue, but I held up a hand, putting the exchange on hold.

   “Hey, wait, how do you know that?”

   The only ones who knew were Varric and, of course, Anders. I couldn’t picture Anders and Fenris meeting up over the last week and having a friendly chat about my visits, and I saw from a distance each of Varric’s and Fenris’ interactions, and they were all initiated by Varric, who I doubted would choose to share his brief time with his friend discussing my trips to Darktown. I also highly doubted Fenris had been strolling through Darktown and happened to see me and figure out I was off to see the wizard—uh, mage. Something else was going on here, some reason I wasn’t seeing.

   Fenris said nothing, only ground his teeth together as he continued to stare past at Anders’ approach. Then he erased all trace of emotion, so the laughter from earlier and the charged atmosphere from a moment ago were hidden behind his usual indifference. The urge to touch him again like at the Hanged Man was there, but I held back, knowing it wouldn’t help. With him it was always two steps forward, another step back and throw in a few twirls to the sequence and I’ve lost myself in a dance I don’t know the steps to. Hanging on wouldn’t prevent him from spinning out of reach.

   Fenris stalked up the hill, muttering something I didn’t quite catch to Anders as the two of them passed each other. Fenris’ face was angled up hill so I couldn’t read his lips, and Anders’ face held the customary crease in his brow when dealing with something unpleasant, so that didn’t give me much of a clue. 

   When Anders came up next to me, he touched my shoulder. I had come to recognize the feel of his magic rippling through me, but just his touch had a calming effect. I was so thankful for it in that moment, such a warm and straightforward gesture. A small thing, but it reaffirmed our growing relationship.

   Over Anders’ shoulder, I saw Fenris turn to glower at us before disappearing over the rise.

   Anders bent down and picked up the stack of dishes. “Well, let’s get back to camp. Marethari wants to speak with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't take credit for Garrett's shem line. He says something like that in game, and when I heard it, I knew I had to work it in somehow. I just love purple/sarcastic Hawke. Garrett in this fanfic though is definitely a blend of green, purple and red Hawke, the different aspects of his personality emerges at different times. He's been a lot of fun to write.  
> Mel is much braver than I when it comes to spiders. They don't bother me if I run across them outdoors, but if they appear in my house or-Maker forbid-on me, then there is much swatting and flailing or just generally freezing up. Fun story, once in high school when I was curled up in my chair writing on my laptop, a spider fell from the ceiling and onto my keyboard with an audible plunk. I didn't know I could move that fast, but I was up in second doing a crazy dance to get it off. I still cringe at how I dropped my laptop. But at least the spider didn't get me, so there's that. Yep, I'm a total Ron Weasely.   
> I think if Mel went to Avonlea instead of Thedas, especially if she went as a young teen, she would 100 percent be kindred spirits with Anne Shirley (guaranteed though if they did a Lady of Shalott reenactment it'd be Anne pretending to be the lady drifting away on the boat while Mel would be reading safely on shore).  
> My goal for the next chapter is Sunday, Dec. 23. *fingers crossed*


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like to listen to music while you read, try Ursine Vulpine's version of Wicked Game ft. Annaca. I had that on loop as I edited the second scene in this chapter. Happy reading!

   I was tired of repeatedly telling my story. I let the others fill in what I didn’t, glad for the reprieve. Throughout, Marethari never asked a question, making the telling quick. Her gaze was thoughtful, and even when my tale reached its unbelievable points, her face never lit with surprise. Maybe she had a great poker face, but her first comment to me made me guess she knew more than she let on. Once I finished, she didn’t speak. Only the crackle of the fire and our collective breathes could be heard. As the moment drew out, my patience waned.

   “So do you know how to send me back home?”

   Finally, she responded. “That is not within my power.”

   I wanted to throw my arms in the air, but I restrained myself, knowing it was the emotional and physical exhaustion at play. I chose my next words carefully. “Well do you have any idea what could have sent me?”

   “I think it is a question of who, not what,” she said. “Your arrival here is no circumstance of fate.”

   Somebody sent me to Thedas? Who? And why?

   Anders rubbed his temples. “If someone sent her here, they would have to be incredibly powerful. Many years ago, I came across a blood mage who took many people’s spirits into the Fade, but she left their bodies behind. To not just take Mel’s spirit, but her physical form as well, from Earth to Thedas, should be impossible. No mortal could do it.”

   “There lies your answer.”

   Everyone paused, parsing her words, but it was Merrill whose lips opened in awe.

   “Keeper, you don’t mean... Could it be Fen’Harel?” Excitedly she turned to me. “The Dread Wolf is one of the elven pantheon, immortal. He could walk between the Creators and the Forgotten Ones. He sealed them away from us. If he could do that, then surely he also has the power to rip you from your world.”

   Oh fun. Walking corpses, spiders, and gods. Thedas had it all.

    “What would an elven god want with a human mortal from another world?” Anders asked.

   “It seems about as likely as Andraste coming back and plucking Mel up herself,” Varric muttered as he took a sip from a flask he pulled from the inside of his jacket.

   I was inclined to agree. What would a god, or well, any powerful being want with me? Just trying to reconcile the idea of such a being was hard enough.

   Marethari’s peaceful look was too settled.

   “You don’t think it’s Fen’Harel, do you?”

   “No, I do not. I do have my suspicions though,” she said.

   Merrill’s face lit up just as Fenris hissed, “I knew we hadn’t seen the last of that witch.”

   Merrill crossed her arms. “Asha’Bellanar is no common witch. She—

   “Will likely have the answers you seek,” Marethari cut in.

   “So…the difference between a mage and a witch is…what exactly?” I asked.

   Varric opened his mouth to automatically reply but then frowned and turned to Anders. “Want to take this one, Blondie?”

   Anders rubbed his eyes. “Mage is the standard term for magic user, though a female mage will sometimes be called witch, but it’s generally applied to apostates, like the Witches of the Wild.”

   “Ah,” I said. I really wanted to ask who the Witches of the Wild were but I’d derailed us enough.

   “It wouldn’t be the first time Flemeth has meddled. Can’t say I mind that she did last time,” Garrett said, smile wry.

   I was going to guess that Flemeth was the witch’s non-Dalish name.“What happened last time?”

   “She saved my mother Leandra, my brother Carver, Scrapper, Aveline and I when we were on the run to avoid becoming darkspawn chow,” Garrett said. “She swooped down as a dragon, roasted those in her way, and then cut us deal: bring her locket to an altar at the top of Sundermount in exchange for safe passage through the Blight.”

   I gaped. A dragon? She could turn into a dragon? Maybe Marethari was right about her being responsible for my appearance in Thedas. From my conversations with Anders, I knew the usual mage wasn’t capable of that.

   “And darkspawn? The Blight?”

   Garrett looked at Varric. “This whole week you’ve been filling her head with Maker knows what about Thedas but you never got to the Blight? It’s the __Blight__.”

   Varric shrugged and took another sip from his flask. “Yeah, the Blight, the thing that hopefully won’t strike again for another century or so—long after Mel is gone. Figured it wasn’t on the top of the need-to-know list. Besides, I figured you or Blondie would want to share that considering you both lived through it, what with you and Lothering and Blondie as a Grey Warden.”

   Garrett looked at Anders, uncharacteristically tempered, and raised a brow. Anders met his gaze then glanced into the fire. “It didn’t come up.”

   Surprisingly, Garrett didn’t press him. There was a lot of understanding in his eyes.

   Unsurprisingly, Fenris did. “Yes, like other things didn’t come up.”

   I knew he was referencing our conversation at the river. Maybe there were things about Anders that I didn’t know—I mean, of course there would be since I’ve only known him for a week. But there were many things about me that they didn’t know either, and I hadn’t exactly been leaping up and down to volunteer the information.

   From Anders’ and Garrett’ quieting demeanor, I knew the Blight wasn’t something they wanted to casually talk about. There was pain there, and I wasn’t going to let my ignorance of this world be an excuse to pry, especially for the consumption of all present.

   Brightly, and most importantly, back on topic, I said, “So how do we find Flemeth? I don’t suppose we could go up Sundermount and summon her or something, right?”

   Garrett raised both brows at this and looked to Merrill and Marethari.

   My friend responded, “She has always been a friend of the People. If she is there, she might speak with us. That is, if she is there, listening.”

   Marethari smiled at her former First. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was expecting you.”

   “Just as you weren’t surprised to see me?” I asked.

   She didn’t seem the slightest ruffled at my words. “Yes, but in a different way. I sensed your spirit before you appeared to our sentries.”

   A quick glance at Merrill and Anders told me this was not some typical mage thing.

   “Could you clarify what you mean by that?”

   “I could but it is not my place.”

   And I could see why Merrill left.

    “Come now, all of you, it is late and we are all weary,” she said, tone brokering no argument. She waved a hand at the clearing in camp she reserved for the Kirkwall crew who had set up our tents while Fenris and I took care of the dishes. I wanted to protest her evasive answers, but had to admit she was right—I was tired and my patience had worn thin.

   Everyone shuffled over to the tents, but Marethari caught me with a look.

   “One thing I will add that you should consider. If Asha’bellanar brought you here then there is some larger reason at play than can immediately be seen. Perhaps instead of unraveling your thread, consider how you have been woven into the tapestry.”

   Could this woman stop speaking Yoda and make sense?

   I crossed my arms. “What are you implying?”

   Marethari sighed as if I were no more than one of her young apprentices I’d seen around the camp. “Consider why you were brought here, and your own reasons for wanting to return to your world. What you seek might be closer than you think.”

   My brows narrowed. Okay, I’d bite. “And what do you think I seek?”

   She looked to where the crew were sorting out sleeping arrangements, but I got the sense she was seeing more, something far off. “What the Dalish have since the fall of Arlathan: home.”

 

 

 

 

   Garret brushed my shoulder. “See something in the fire?”

   I startled. “What?” After Marethari left, I had sat back down, thoughts fluttering. I hadn’t even heard his approach.

   He straddled the log I was on, body angled towards me as he watched the fire whose flames still danced in my vision, blinding me to his expression. “Shapes in the fire. My father Malcolm taught me to see them. We’d create stories around them. Great distraction for a kid when we’d pull up stakes to move again—he was an apostate, so being a nomad was just a part of life for us. By the time Bethany and Carver came along, I was well versed in the game. We created all sorts of nonsense tales to distract her when her magic began to show. When I was fourteen and we’d finally settled in Lothering, she’d still pull me over to the fireplace after she’d have a nightmare about the Templars catching her.”

   Garrett’s face came into focus. He studied the fire, the witty rogue persona strangely absent.

   “Tell me, Mel, what do you see?”

   The way the fire moved, as if it were alive, intrigued me. It reached for the sky as if its rage would burn a hole in the world. When a breeze sent the flames wavering like a tree in a gale, I imagined a pair of fiery arms reaching toward me. For a second, the sight even seemed familiar. But then the image was gone, and the fire was only a fire.

   “A fiery creature consuming all in its path,” I said and shivered.

   “I see figures, people who might quake but not fall,” he said.

   I tried to see their shapes, but all I saw was a blackened log collapse into the deep coals.

   “Where do they find the strength?” I asked.  

   “From each other. The world is too much to face alone.”

   I hummed. “All right then. How does the story end? How do our intrepid heroes fare?”

   “Oh they vanquish the monster of course, raid its hoard and return to civilization wondrously wealthy and even more good looking with their new scars, winning the hands of their loves.”

   I grinned. “Seems a bit idealistic.”

   He grinned back. “I was never a fans of tragedies. Too many soliloquies.”

   I barked a laugh as I fingered the edge of my shirt. “Now there is a 20 point Scrabble word.”

   Garrett overlooked my Earth reference, grin broadening in response to mine. “So we know the story is going to end well, now we just need to make it through the scenes in-between.”

   “I thought we were making up tales about what we saw in the flames, not making poorly veiled allusions to our lives.”

   “We are making up tales—our own in fact. Everyday.” He scooted in closer. “So, tell me, what did Marethari say to you?”

   I stopped playing with my shirt and sighed. “Now that the Blight is over, have you thought about going back to Lothering? Don’t you think of it as home?”

   “Well, the Blight didn’t exactly leave a whole lot to go back to. We still have the title to the land and friends who survived, but who would return? Carver is off saving the world somewhere as a Grey Warden. My mother Leandra has her family’s estate here and her brother Gamlen. I have my title, fortune, friends, and the thankless job of putting out Kirkwall’s ever blossoming fires” Garrett joked, the humor not reaching his eyes. I knew he was thinking about Bethany; she must not have made it far from Lothering.

   I closed the gap between us and laid a hand on his leg like he did with me in Aveline’s office. “So you think of Kirkwall as home?”

   “It’s not so much Kirkwall the place as it is the people, but yes, it’s home. My mother used to say something to me when I was very young and didn’t understand yet why we moved so much. She said, ‘Home is not where your hearth is but your heart.’ I know it sounds like something a bored noblewomen might cross-stitch on a cushion but she would know the truth of it better than anyone since she left a life of privilege to live on the run with father. And I agree with her. As long as those I care about are here, then Kirkwall is home.”

   So what happens when the people you call home are no longer in your life?

   “What of you, Mel? What’s home for you? Family waiting on Earth? A lover?”

   I almost snorted. Almost. Romantic relationships were possibilities as distant as the moon considering my track record on just keeping platonic relationships.

   “No, definitely no lover,” I said.

   “Really?” Garrett said, looking surprised, which in turn surprised me.  

   “Yes really. No siblings either. Never met my dad. It was always mom and me. We moved around a lot. I mean a lot. At least every six months, so I never really made friends either,” I rattled off, surprising myself with how all this personal information came right out.

   “Why all the moving?” he asked, voice soft.

   “That’s…complicated,” I said, biting my lip.

   Garrett slid a hand from where it had been resting on his lap down his leg to where my hand still laid. I had meant to comfort him, but now he was comforting me again. I couldn’t say I didn’t like having the weight of his hand on mine.

   “Is she home for you?” he asked.

   “At one point, she was.”

   If I never saw her again, would she suspect I’d gone missing or would she assume I’d rightly chosen to stay away, especially after what she had done? Or, would she still be so lost in her head she couldn’t be bothered to care? Even my roommates probably wouldn’t notice my absence until rent came due. The first people to notice would be my employers, and that would only be to fire me, not find me.

   Marethari was right. I was seeking. I didn’t have people to call home, only a place. But at least Earth was a place that made sense, where I was comfortable and safe. I had to go back. It’s where I belonged.

   We sat there for a minute more staring into the fire, lost in thought, before Garrett turned to me, jaw set.

   “Mel, I promised I’d help you find home. I aim to keep that promise.” He lifted my hand to his lips, eyes never leaving mine. I felt my stomach drop away as the kiss zipped through my skin, promptly setting my face on fire. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he pulled away to stand, gently returning my hand to my lap.

   My lips parted, to say what I don’t know, but no sound came out. Hand kissing was probably some common custom in Thedas. That’s all. No reason to get ruffled. I set my mouth in a line.

   “Fenris is sharing a tent with Varric, and I’m with Anders. Merrill was paired with you, but she’s in the aravel with Marethari, so that leaves you with Scrapper,” he said, pointing to a tent set in the middle of the other two.

   “All right, that’s fine,” I said, standing up myself.

   “Now if Scrapper snores too loud or starts running in his sleep, there is plenty of room with Anders and I,” Garrett said, his roguish grin finding him once more. “Or if you just get lonely.”

   “Thanks, but I think Scrapper and I will manage,” I said, rolling my eyes as we came to stand in front of the tents.

   “Goodnight Mel,” he whispered over his shoulder before ducking into his tent.

   “Yeah, don’t let the bed bugs bite,” I muttered as I went inside my own, face still too heated for my liking.

   I tucked myself into my bedroll, Scrapper a cozy mountain beside me.With my eyes closed, the body heat felt like another person beside me. As I began to drift off, I ached to reach out and confirm my mind’s trick. But I didn’t know whose touch haunted my hand more: the one who held it, the one who brushed it, or the one who kissed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I was going to post on Sunday, but I got done editing earlier than expected and figured, why not? Merry Christmas all! And if I don't post again in 2018, Happy New Years! :)


	10. Chapter 10

   I woke with dog hair in my mouth, a sure sign to the start of a bad day. I also ended up sleeping on my shoulder funny, so the muscles felt pinched. I was standing outside my tent, stretching in an attempt to work out the kinks, when I overheard Garrett and Varric discussing the day’s agenda. Garrett looked over his friend’s head straight at me. I must have looked terrible, clothes rumpled, hair frizzy, but it was like he didn’t see any of that. He wore the sly grin from the night before, and damn him, I felt heat begin to creep up my neck. I quickly spun around, and ended up twisting my shoulder even more. I cursed, and almost cursed again when I saw a figure approach out of the corner of my eye.

   “Good morning,” Garrett said, too cheery by half.  

   I tried to smile, but it might have come across as more of a cringe as I squinted into the morning light while rolling my shoulder.

   “Sleep well?”

   “Super.”

   “You seem stiff. Shoulder?”

   No use pretending. “Yeah. Slept on it wrong.”

   He put his hand on the offending shoulder. I stiffened at first, but let out my breath as he began to knead the muscles with expert fingers. I didn’t realize how much tension had been crammed in my body until he began to loosen its hold. I felt like a cat arching her back into her human’s touch. I closed my eyes, feeling as if I might purr.

   “How do you know how to do this?” I sighed, my embarrassment temporarily forgotten as the ache began to ease.

   “I’ve had a lot of practice on Anders,” he said, his voice sounding too pleased with himself when I began to melt at his touch. “Overworks himself and then leaves no mana to look after himself.”

   I hummed in response. It made me happy to hear how he looked after Anders. I knew he was protective of him from the way he looked after him, like making sure he had enough to eat or inviting Anders to live with him. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the reasons he shared a tent with him was to make sure he got plenty of sleep too. I had not forgotten the burned low candles at the clinic.  

   I opened my eyes to test my shoulder, which felt leagues better, but then saw a certain dwarf busy with paper and quill and giving us a knowing look. I immediately righted myself, busying myself by smoothing my clothes and not making eye contact.

   “Uh, thanks. Much better now,” I said to Garrett who only chuckled in response.

   “What’s much better?” Anders asked, coming up from behind, still bleary-eyed.

   “Her shoulder,” Varric called helpfully. I glared at him but he wore a grin nearly as cheeky as Garrett’s—I could see why they got along so well.

   “I just slept on it wrong. It’s not a big deal,” I muttered, but true to form, Anders came over and touched the shoulder Garrett had been massaging only a moment before, sending a current of his clean-scented magic through me. Any last trace of an ache evaporated.

   “Thank you,” I whispered and Anders smiled kindly at me in response. The morning sun hit his hair at a slant, making his loose hair look like tendrils of golden light. I wanted to run my fingers through it. For a second, I wondered if he’d let me fix his hair for him again. I almost asked but stopped before the words left my mouth. What was coming over me? My eyes fell from his face to the exposed collarbone from his unbuttoned cloak. I swallowed, then swiftly looked away as if there was sun in my eyes.

   They landed on Fenris exiting his tent. The glare he sent the sun would have frozen it if such a thing were possible. He wore only his leathers which clung to his body like a second skin. He was just lacing up his shirt, but I glimpsed the expanse of his chest with more intricate tattoos. I hadn’t noted them that time at his mansion. Did he have them everywhere? They trailed down his abdomen and disappeared right into his pants…

   Like he had a sixth sense, he caught me staring. He didn’t send me the frosty look he gave most people though, but smirked instead. I quickly became attentive to the ground beneath my feet.

   One of the aravel’s doors flew open, and with a voice that matched the pure mountain morning, Merrill called out to all: “Almost ready to go?”

   I plucked a piece of dog hair from my shirt, wishing I could as easily remove my muddled thoughts. “Quite,” I answered.

 

 

 

   I expected the climb up Sundermount to be more eventful. Besides slipping on a loose rock and then promptly being caught by a too easily amused Garrett, it wasn’t. That should have eased my nerves but I remained on edge. Each step I took brought me closer to Flemeth and theoretically, answers. But a more immediate concern preoccupied my mind.

   As we hiked I learned that Garrett had agreed to help Merrill get a tool to repair her mirror from Marethari. She didn’t want to give the tool, thinking the repair of Merrill’s mirror could be dangerous, so Merrill invoked some special Dalish right and Marethari sent her on a quest as a kind of exchange. The quest? To kill an ancient elven guardian creature known as a varterral whose ancient purpose was to fend off dragons. It just so happened that one had set up its hunting grounds in one of Sundermount’s caverns, and instead of protecting elves, it had killed several Dalish hunters.

   Now, most people would be deterred when sent to kill something that used to go up against dragons, which I think was the Keeper’s hope, but not the Kirkwall crew. Oh who am I kidding, not Garrett. The varterral was conveniently along the way to the Dalish altar, so he thought why not make the mountain less dangerous, get the tool, and see about finding me answers all on one trip.

   I couldn’t be so dismissive over it. Garrett took my concern for worry about my safety since I had no weapons training; he assured me I wouldn’t come close to the action, left at the entrance of the caves with Scrapper. That wasn’t what worried me. I’d seen the armored Dalish in camp. They didn’t strike me as the type to go down without a fight, but still, the varterral killed them. It could kill my companions too.

   I have frames of reference for dragons and spiders, and while terrifying, they were entities I could wrap my head around. Not so for a varterral. Not even Merrill could tell me what they looked like beyond their origin story, how they were fashioned from fallen trees of a elven forest. My imagination gladly filled in the blanks with a fearsome specter with knotted eyes and wood-chip teeth.

   No one else seemed worried though, so maybe I was overreacting. I swallowed my worries and put on a brave face.

   That face faltered once we entered the first cavern and I spotted the three corpses. Just like at Fenris’ mansion, Anders was there to steady me by the shoulders.

   “Mel, it’s okay. Look at the armor, the insignia there. These aren’t the hunters we’re looking for. These must have been mercenaries or slavers, and judging from the state of the decomposition, they’ve been dead for a while. The varterral must be a ways in yet. You’re safe,” he said, brushing a piece of my hair back behind one ear.  

   I nodded stiffly, trying to not look in the direction of the bodies. I’d prefer to wait outside the cave, but it had started to drizzle, and I didn’t need to stand out there for who knows how long and catch a cold.

   “Here,” Garrett said, undoing a belt from around his waist. He brought his arms around me as if we were about to embrace, making me sharply inhale, but he only cinched the belt on my waist. I huffed at him and he grinned, pointing to the potions hanging off the belt.

   “This one,” he tapped the purple one, “is a miasmic flask. It stuns your opponents. And this,” he indicated the twirling orange and red one, “is an Antivan fire grenade, and as the name suggests, will make whatever you toss it at go up in flames, so don’t take up juggling if you get bored waiting for us to come back.”

   I stuck my tongue out at him and his grin grew wider. “So what happened to me being safe here with Scrapper?”

   Scrapper whined and tilted his head up at Garrett as if waiting for an answer too. Garrett scratched the mabari’s ears. “I know you’ll take good care of her, won’t you boy?” To me, he said, “I don’t anticipate trouble. It’s only a precaution. It’ll give me peace of mind to know you’ll have a second layer of protection, and you too I’ll bet since you don’t like to leave yourself in the hands, or paws, of anyone else.”

   I crinkled my nose at him but didn’t comment on that last part. He wasn’t wrong: I did feel better.

   “What about you? Won’t you need these?”

   “Don’t worry about me, I’ve got a spare,” he pulled out a single fire grenade which seemed like a good choice to fight a creature that supposedly came from wood. I’d prefer if he had more, but couldn’t deny the grenades resting on my hips felt reassuring.

   Garrett said they should be back in an hour or two, and without further fanfare, the crew ventured on. I stood listening until their voices echoed to silence and all I could hear was my own heartbeat too fast in my ears. I dared myself to peek around the bend but there wasn’t a trace of their passage. Scrapper whined at me, so I contained myself to the entrance cavern.

   I tried sitting still, preoccupying myself by examining the grenades on the belt and their swirl of colors. I made sure I understood how to quickly loosen them from my belt if needed, but soon stopped. It’d be just my luck if I dropped the miasmic flask and knocked myself out for them to find if they came back—Garrett would never let me live it down. Or if I dropped the fire grenade, then there wouldn’t be much of me left to live anything down if they came back.

   No, not if, when. Of course they were coming back.

   I paced about the cavern as my imagination began to conjure every possible horrible outcome, which only urged me to pace faster. I forced myself to take deep breathes and study the cracks and vines in the ceiling, how they twisted, knotted, and double-backed. I followed their lines for several minutes like a map, seeing where they would lead me. One thick one emerged from the ground near the corpses.

   I had purposefully avoided them, but now I dared myself to face them. I approached them slowly, as if they might suddenly burst to life, which was of course ridiculous. Still, I had seen enough horror films to be paranoid. When I was close, I kicked the nearest. The bones rattled within their armor, making me leap back with a shriek. Scrapper perked his ears and tilted his head at me.

   “It’s all good, boy. I think they’re really dead. No walking corpses here.”

   I studied the insignia Anders had pointed out. It looked like the one in my History of Thedas book for the Tevinter Imperium, so maybe the guess of them being slavers wasn’t far off. Varric had said the caves on the Wounded Coast were filled with abandoned smuggling coves and slave pens. It wouldn’t be surprising if there were many bodies left to rot inside this mountain.

   I shivered, and began to turn away when a wink of metal caught my eyes. Buried amongst the ferns with rust patches littering its surface was a sword. I crouched down, touching the flat side of the cool steel, suddenly less mindful of the corpses within an arm’s reach away.

   It took some root pulling to yank the sword free, and more strength to drag it away. I pursed my lips and lifted it upright in what I thought was a defensive pose. My arms wobbled with the effort, and this sword was regular-sized. How the hell was Fenris able to dance about with his giant one?

   I took a practice swing and its weight pulled me off balance. As I swung around, I caught a blur of Scrapper watching me with his head tilted almost entirely horizontal. I gave one breathless laugh which quickly turned into a hiss when I stumbled, the blade plunging into the ground inches from my feet. I could see why beginners started with wooden swords.

   Even though I was still near the entrance, the air in the cavern became stale on my tongue. I pushed myself up, the sensation of a dozen pinpricks on my skin lanced across my forehead. Dread welled up, cementing me to the floor.

   From the dull metal, I saw the reflection of movement behind me. Before I could react, Scrapper leaped onto the rising corpse. Arms intermingled with cloth and flesh remnants reached for their sword, but the mabari was already at the corpse’s heels, hindering its movements. He pulled it down, and demonstrated why mabari were called war hounds with the way his teeth and nails flashed. The corpse couldn’t manage to get from underneath him.

   It was only when Scrapper sent a bone flying from the fray to clatter against the cave wall beside me that I remembered to blink. I stumbled back, hands tightening around the sword’s handle, blade dragging in the dirt. Holy sh—

   Scrapper’s vicious growling couldn’t mask the wet gurgling sound of the other two corpses who rose up. One drew its sword from the rotten tatters of its scabbard faster than anything without fully functional joints should, heading for the mabari’s flank.

   “Scrapper! Behind you!”

   Scrapper bounded from his first opponent towards his new one, and I didn’t get to see what happened next because a pair of eyeless sockets stepped into my line of view. I let out a litany of curses under my breath as I raised the sword. The third corpse shambled towards me, arms lifted in classic zombie style, whether for a taste of my flesh or for its stolen sword or both I couldn’t tell.

   “Stay back,” I warned, backing up.

   It didn’t listen, either because it wasn’t intimidated by my poor swordsmanship or because its ears had rotted off long ago, I couldn’t tell. I gulped, tightening my grip.

   As soon as it came within reach, I gracelessly chopped down with the sword. Bone crunched. The corpse hissed. One arm dangled in splinters from its side. I gaped at the damage I caused, maybe too much, because its undamaged arm swung, swatting me to the ground.

   My ribs screamed on impact, but I sucked in a breath and scrambled to my feet. The scrapes on my palms stung as I grasped the sword’s handle once more but I refused to be defenseless. I would not be a victim this time.

   My next swing wasn’t as lucky as my first, missing by inches as the corpse sidestepped. It grabbed my right arm with a vise-like grip, jerking me close; I could feel it bruising. I tried to bring my sword around, but we were in too close quarters. I kicked and shoved but no blow slowed it. It reeled me in like a minnow, my strength no match. Its jaw opened wide, angling for my throat.

   I held the sword aimed at the ground between our nearing chests, knowing I’d have one chance. With a timed thrust, I jammed the pommel in the corpse’s mandible, preventing its rotten teeth from tearing out my throat. It had to release me to remove the sword, which allowed me to bolt for the other end of the cavern.

   The first corpse Scrapper mauled wasn’t out of the running yet. Though its legs were shambles, it pursued the mabari with a single minded focus, dragging itself forward by its arms. I didn’t dare call out to Scrapper now for fear of distracting him as he darted around the second’s corpse’s sword swings. I grabbed the largest rock I could lift, and with straining arms, waddled toward the legless corpse. So concentrated on getting to the mabari, it didn’t realize I was standing over it until I dropped the rock on its head. The crunch its skull made me want to heave but I couldn’t afford to be grossed out now. A glance behind me showed the once swordless corpse now well armed with mine as it pulled the pommel from its jaw. I didn’t have much time.  

   My eyes flew around the cave, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon, not that a stick would be a match for a sword-wielding corpse. Scrapper let out a high pitched yip when the second corpse’s sword drew a long red line across his flank. My corpse’s head turned toward the sound, as if smelling the fresh blood. Both armed corpses closed in as Scrapper evaded, clearly favoring a paw he must have injured while I had been occupied with the legless corpse.

   I yelled at the undead, hoping to momentarily attract their attention, not that I knew what I’d do if I did, but they continued after Scrapper. I knew with certainty then that they wouldn’t stop until they killed him or he stopped them, and the odds didn’t look good, not when he was already injured and facing two sword wielding undead.

   Frantically I scanned the ground but couldn’t see where the crushed-corpse’s sword had gone. Then my hand brushed the forgotten grenade belt. I swiftly slipped the miasmic flask free and hurled it at the combatants. There was the sound of breaking glass one second and then a cloud of purple-black filled the vicinity. For the moment, all sounds of battle ceased. I had feared the flask would only work on the living, leaving Scrapper knocked out and defenseless, but when the cloud began to settle, I saw all three swaying on their feet as if asleep.

   I ran in with a wordless cry, ramming over the corpse that had drew Scrapper’s blood and kicking over the other. As they hit the ground, they woke. But I was there with the first’s sword in hand, ramming the blade with as much force as I could muster right into its rotten face.

   I didn’t have a chance to feel the slightest relief. The other corpse on the ground hadn’t gotten itself back up yet, but instead, decided I should join it. It latched onto my ankle and slammed me to the earth. I tried to roll away but its remaining hand dug into my flesh so hard I screamed. It cocked its head as if curious about the sound I made. It pulled itself on top of me, eyeless sockets trained on my throat. Its hands reached, and I tried to evade. It would not strangle, it would snap my neck with its supernatural strength. I knew this with a certainty, and a familiar energy began to build up inside me in response.

   But it never brimmed. The undead’s head suddenly titled at an unnatural angle with a sickening snap of its spine. Broken. Scrapper. The corpse’s hold instantly went slack and I shoved it away from me with a shudder. The energy inside me had extinguished, and for a moment I thought I might have imagined it in my panic. Once on my feet again I took the sword and slammed it into its skull, over and over with a strength I didn’t know I possessed, the scattered bone like eggs shells.

   “And stay dead!” I shrieked, letting the sword thud in the dirt as all my energy  deserted me. My chest heaved as my fingers fumbled on the grenade belt. I wanted to launch my fire grenade at the remains for good measure but that was probably overkill. Pretty sure Garrett gave me this for dire situations, not to nuke my already dead enemies. Well, make that dead-dead enemies. I didn’t think they would be causing anymore trouble as they were in fragments around the cavern.

   I hysterically giggled, then just as suddenly stopped, unable to suck enough air into my lungs to continue. Every breath was shallow, making a whistling sound in the back of my throat. I hunched over, closing my eyes and clutching a hand to my aching side.

   Scrapper’s wet nose nudged my thigh and I found myself pulling him into me, burying my face in his coat. He didn’t seem to find anything strange about my reaction, only laid his massive head over my shoulder. I tried to match my breathing to his steady heartbeat. I counted them out, two minutes worth, my body growing cold as the adrenaline left my system and sweat dried on my skin.

   But the prickly sensation that came when the undead rose, though now somewhat abated, had not gone away. It felt more acute when I angled my head toward the caverns inside. The dread from before lingered in my stomach like poison but I didn’t let it freeze me this time. I didn’t know how but I knew the pricks were related to the rise of the undead. The answer felt instinctively right.

   In that case, there had to be more of them deeper in. The Kirkwall crew wouldn’t have left me here with the dead if they had suspected they would be a danger, which meant they must not know about the others rising up. Considering the passage of time from when the crew left to when I felt them rise, it was likely they didn’t awaken until after the group passed. Would they be able to sense the wrongness creeping up from behind, or would they pay it no mind with a monster ahead of them?

   An otherworldly shriek pierced the air from the mountain’s depths. Faraway yet loud. Angry and powerful. The varterral.

   Every instinct told me to run. I was good at that. Fast. I could split down the mountain trail. Despite Scrapper’s injured paw he’d keep up. We’d go to the Dalish. They’d send somebody, do something. They had to.

   Or no, maybe they wouldn’t since Marethari sent us here to take care of the problem her hunters couldn’t in the first place. Aveline then. I could get back to Kirkwall, hopefully not run into any spiders or Tal-vashoth or any other dangerous things along the way, and then the city guard could rescue everybody.

   But that would take too long. They’d arrive to witness the aftermath. They couldn’t save anyone, simply check on the survivors. If there were survivors. Unbidden, the image of the undead swarming my companions came to my mind, and a pair of legs slipping down the gullet of a monstrous mouth.  

   I knew the answer. I knew what I had to do. I was going to run, and if I was as fast as I hoped I was, I would arrive right when the undead did, ruining their element of surprise at the least.

   My arms trembled with effort as I attached the sword to my belt. I grasped the handle, tilting the unsheathed blade away from my body so it wouldn’t whack my legs.

   “Scrapper, let’s go save your master, all right?” I said, sprinting the way the Kirkwall crew had gone, hot breath on heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of 2019! And wow, Finding Home has hit the double digits in chapters!  
> I just got to say, I've been blown away by all the lovely comments and kudos and support you've all given this fic. Thank you so much <3 If I could sit around all day and write I'd be living the dream. Your engaged readership makes me think maybe it's not such a far fetched dream after all.  
> Speaking of dreams, I'm working on two different original short stories this month. My goal is to get them finished and polished by early next month. (Whispers: I was actually supposed to have one finished by the end of December but well there was the holidays and friends visiting from out of town and family and then I got sick and suffice it to say both stories are started but far from finished). This really isn't relevant except to explain that, while of course I'll still be working on Finding Home, my main writing focus will be on getting these two stories done to meet my deadline. I will definitely get the next chapter done between now and then though. I know I've left us this week on a bit of cliffy and I don't want to leave you all hanging too long.  
> I hope whatever goals you've made for yourself for 2019 that you keep at them! You've got this! Let's make 2019 great :)


	11. Chapter 11

   I barely felt the pain in my side as we flew. My eyes zipped around every cavern we ran through, rooting out the shadows, checking for any movement, or any sign of disturbance. Nothing.

   The evidence of long ago abandoned mining operations were everywhere. Braces in doorways. Tracks and carts. Empty sconces. Branching tunnels. I trusted Scrapper’s nose to lead us through.

    We came to a large cavern, sunlight filtering in, wooden stairs leading down to a ledge. There was the first body. I crept towards it on light feet, ready to leap away if necessary. Scrapper sniffed it than looked at me expectantly. I leaned over, only then realizing this person wasn’t nearly as decomposed as the undead had been. The armor was familiar. Oh yes, Dalish make. I recognized it from my book of Thedas history. This was one of the missing hunters. There were impressions in the dirt nearby. Other things had laid here. I had my suspicions as to what.

   The pain in my head sharpened, the noise of battle echoing to us. We were getting close. I followed Scrapper along the ridge through a doorway and down another flight of stairs.

   And there they were. I was too late. The undead had come up behind on the ranged fighters, but they were holding. Anders knocked back encroaching undead with a blast of invisible force, Merrill sending a stone fist into one out of his range. Varric dropped a hail of arrows, pinning some in place. I heard the cling of blades further in, Garrett and Fenris in all likelihood, but stood transfixed watching the undead nailed to the ground pull their feet free from Varric’s arrows, feeling no pain. I swallowed hard, knowing they couldn’t be allowed to make it to the ranged fighters where they’d be at a disadvantage. But the three knew it too. Vines twisted around Merrill’s shape, tangling around the undead. A ball of fire grew in Anders hands and he hurled it out like a grenade. A flash. Then the smell of sizzling flesh and burnt earth permeated the air.

   Right, fire. I palmed my fire grenade, judging the distance between the backsides of unroasted undead and myself at the cavern’s entrance.

   That’s when the familiar though much louder earsplitting shriek cut through everything, followed by the ground rumbling. I pulled my hands from my ears and peered through the smoke, hands shaking around the grenade as the varterral emerged. It looked like that acklay creature in Star Wars Attack of the Clones, the one from the arena, only at least two stories tall and made of wood. The thunk of blades against varterral flesh caught my attention. There was Garrett and Fenris, darting between its massive legs carving grooves. The varterral shrieked, spinning about as it tried to impale them.

   How the hell had they been planning to kill that thing!?!

   Distracted, I didn’t notice two undead charge me but Scrapper did. He launched himself, knocking one right over. The noise brought Varric’s attention. He leveled Bianca at us, the skin around his eyes tightening in recognition before he grabbed a different colored bolt from his arsenal. It hit the second undead running at us, exploding it in flames. It ran in a panic, arms batting at its face into the cavern’s depth, disappearing into the smoke. One of the varterral’s legs jabbed down, extinguishing the undead and the fire in one go. My hands came to my mouth, still hanging onto my grenade. In one move it was gone. It’d take just one step to kill anybody, even the undead. My stomach lurched as Fenris and Garrett dodged the varterral’s attacks. All it would take was one mistake…

   “Bolt! What are you doing here?”

   Varric’s call jerked my attention away. It would be pointless to tell him I came to warn them now. Apparently deciding the same, or at least my answer could wait, he turned and fired into the hoard.

   At the mention of my nickname, Anders twisted around from driving the blade at the end of his staff through the skull of one of the undead that had gotten in melee range. I didn’t hear so much as see him speak my name. He looked scared. Scared for me.

   A wave of guilt swept me in the midst of all the chaos. I was a liability. One more thing to worry about. I had tried to help in what way I could but I wasn’t helping now. I should go wait a ways away, out of the line of fire.

   I walked backwards, trying to be as silent and small as possible. I didn’t get far before the last undead fell. I experienced a flicker of relief but it swiftly extinguished. Apparently when we all entered this cave somebody must have slapped a note on all of our collective backs that said “Meal tickets” because I heard a distinct scuttling sound come from behind me.

   “Spiders!” I screamed and ran headlong into the cavern.

   “Mel, here!” Anders called. He stood point to the other two, staff held at the ready in one hand, the other extended towards me.

   I flew to him. He squeezed my hand once, a promise of safety, then he pulled me behind him.

   “Merrill, chain lightning and then petrify as many as you can. Varric, blind them. Scrapper, keep them from us if they get too close; no charging in,” Anders spared a glance at the grenade I still clutched, smile tight. “Mel, why don’t we give them a light show? Be ready on my mark.”

   I nodded quick, grateful to be given something useful to do. Then the spiders were there. Lightning shot from Merrill’s staff, bounding from one spider to the next, shocking them. Before they could shake off the effects, Varric fired for their many eyes as ordered. Scrapper crouched low, growling deep in his chest as he eyed which ones Merrill couldn’t encase in rock. Anders angled toward the group on his right, so I mirrored him, taking his left. Fire began pooling in his hands. The heat of it hit me from several feet away, and yet he held it poised as a bead of sweat rolled down his face as he studied the battle.

   “Now.”

   He launched his fireball and I threw my grenade a half second later, both flanks of the incoming spiders bursting into a field of flame. I threw up an arm to shield my face from the sudden light and heat, and then just as suddenly wanted to clamp both hands over my ears at the creatures’ inhuman screeches. They tried to run from the flames that engulfed their bodies, some at us, others deeper into the cavern. Varric’s firing speed slowed as he tracked one at a time, searching for a kill shot. I finally got to see what a cone of ice was when Anders encased spiders about to trample into our group in ice. The one that came around from the other side Merrill was able to knock down, allowing Scrapper to dart in for the kill.

   The varterral had gone from pissed off at the two humanoids harrying it to downright furious when it spotted half the hoard of spiders aflame and running straight towards it. It spat out a spray of a clear liquid, some kind of spit that put out the fire as steam rose up. I quickly realized it wasn’t when one spider only slightly singed was hit, screeching as if on fire like its brethren. Acid. Slippery acid, I noted as the spider slid on the puddle, trying to change course. The others charged on, driven mad by pain, some succumbing to the flames, others exchanging burning from flames for acid.

    The varterral not only tried to crush Garrett and Fenris but any flaming spider that its venom didn’t stop. It clearly wasn’t a fan of fire. If the varterral’s origin story was true, why in Thedas would the elves create a guardian against dragons made out of wood?

   A spider zipped through the varterral’s legs, smashing into Fenris who had leaped into its path to avoid being squashed by one of the ancient elven guardian’s many legs. He was on his feet again in a moment, the arc of his sword putting the spider out of its misery.

   Garrett had another method for getting out of the way, which was a questionable one. He climbed the varterral’s leg with his daggers like a scene from an unrealistic action movie, the creature distracted by the incoming flames and Fenris dancing beneath it with his giant sword. It didn’t realize its mistake until Garrett was on its back, running up towards it neck. The varterral’s head whipped around 180 degrees, jaws opening wide to unleash its acid at blank range. Garrett barely evaded the spray and my heart clenched in my chest. Then he was out of range, on the creature’s head. He took his twin daggers and drove them into its eyes straight to its brain. The creature gave its loudest shriek yet, all the warning Fenris needed to get out from underneath it. It collapsed, but not before it flung Garrett off it in its death throes. He slammed against the cavern walls then crumpled to the ground.

   I didn’t think to scream. I ran, darting between fallen undead and still scurrying spiders, at his side in seconds. I rolled him onto his back, fingers at his neck searching for a pulse.

   “Please, please, please,” I frantically whispered under my breath, not sure who I was even begging.

   Maybe my hands were too shaky or maybe I was doing it wrong but I couldn’t feel anything. I tore his breastplate off, yanking his shirt up. I put my ear to his still warm chest, trying to even my breathing so I could hear.

   I choked back a relieved sob. There it was, the steady rhythm of his heart. It was comforting in a way no other sound could be. I kept my head there for a minute to ensure I wasn’t deluding myself. This was real. He was alive.

   Maybe too alive. A pair of strong arms tugged me against his body.

   “Well, this is a nice surprise. Though if you wanted me out of my clothes, you could have just asked.”   

   I jerked my too hot face away from his chest, letting his shirt fall back down.   “Damn it, Garrett,” I pinched him on the arm.

   He only smiled, eyes still closed. Then he pinched me back.

   “Jesus Christ!” I fell back.

   “You pinched me first,” he said, tucking his arms behind his head like he were napping under an oak tree in some pastoral painting. “Though I admit, I thought the first time I made you scream it would be my name on yours lips, not some other fellow’s.”

   I forced an eye roll despite echoes of fear for him still weighing down my stomach. “Clearly you don’t have a head injury, or you might have stopped your jokes,” I said, looking back to our companions who were dealing mercy blows to the last of the spiders. I folded my trembling arms and shrugged towards the others. “Come on.”

   Garrett sat up quickly and immediately regretted his decision judging by the twist of his face. A hand braced against his ribs, the other on the ground for support.

   “You okay?” I asked, my tone betraying my worry. I darted back to his side, arm at his back. He allowed me to lean him against the cavern wall. “I’ll get Anders.”

   “Just stay here a moment,” he said, voice too soft for him.

   He snagged my wrist and gently tugged me into his side, my face coming up to the crook of his neck. I tilted my head up, looking at his closed eyes. There was something different from when he caught me when I fainted at the clinic or playfully swung his arm around me at the keep. There was an intensity to him, sharpening my senses. A need. I picked up his scent, something distinctly him that I hadn’t parsed out before—cinnamon, leather, and a masculine musk. My stomach grew lighter, fluttery, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

   I tried to blink my acute awareness of him away, concentrating on the collar of his shirt. “Garrett,” I whispered.

   He hummed in acknowledgement in the back of his throat, his hand coming up to touch my hair. I couldn’t think to say anything for a moment as the feel of his fingers in my hair soothed me. But I didn’t have to.

   “Why are you here?” he eventually asked.

   “The dead rose in the cavern entrance, so not quite as dead as we thought.”

   “All three?” His arm pulled me close. I winced at the pressure on my side and he noticed. I could see he was about to ask for the full extent of my injuries but I cut him off by answering his first question.

   “Yes. Scrapper and I took care of them. Turns out your grenades came in handy today. So did this sword,” I said, jutting out my hip where the well worn sword still hung on my belt. “We’re okay,” I assured him as he stared at my scraped palms.

   “Why didn’t you run?” he pressed, voice deceptively even.

   “I…” I wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it. I could have run but I didn’t want to leave Scrapper behind to fend off the undead. He might have died. I didn’t want anyone, dog or otherwise, to die for me. Running hadn’t been an option then, just as it hadn’t been an option for me to leave Garrett and everyone else behind if there was a chance I could have helped once the first undead were dispatched. “…I wanted to warn you about the undead…”

   “You should have run.” He didn’t say it to me. He said it to the air, as if someone else was there.

   “Maybe,” I hedged.

   His jaw clenched. “No, listen to me. I gave you the grenades to protect you, so if you ran into trouble you could use them defensively, to escape, not mire yourself into more danger.”

   “I did use them defensively, and, I wasn’t looking for trouble.”

   “Of course you weren’t looking for it. But you still could have found it coming after us. One wrong turn in these tunnels and you could have stumbled right into the spiders’ nest, and a spare grenade and a rusty sword wouldn’t have been enough to save you.”

   “Scrapper led me straight to you. I didn’t realize he might confuse your scent with a spider nest. My mistake. If this is such a concern, perhaps you should bathe more often.” I leaned away from him as if he smelled, which he did, but it definitely wasn’t in a bad way.  

   He didn’t smile at my quip. He took the hand closest to him, gently tracing around my scrapes, making me shiver. “I’m sorry I left you. If I had known about the undead there…”

   “I know,” I whispered. “That’s why I wanted to warn you. I figured you’d be so focused on the varterral you might not notice the undead coming up behind.”

   “And what would you have done if you actually had overtaken them? You’d have had to get through them to get to us. Getting past the hoard unharmed in the close quarters of the tunnels would have been quite the feat. Or, they might have sensed you coming up behind and decided to give chase to you instead. They may not be as fast as us, but they do not tire, and Maker help you if they get a solid hold on you because their strength is unnatural.”

   I opened my mouth but then shut it. I hadn’t thought about any of that when I ran after the group. Maybe he had a point. I wasn’t some warrior or tactician and I certainly wasn’t aware of all the potential dangers Thedas holds.

   Nevertheless, I still felt like I had done the best thing I could have at the time. Besides, Scrapper wouldn’t have led me straight to spiders's nest or whatever other horrible thing lurked in this mountain. As for the undead, I might not have had a plan to get past them, but I’m sure I would have figured something out.

   Garrett’s finger stilled on my palm. I could feel his intense gaze on my face. “Mel, what you tried to do was brave, but—

   I pulled my hand back from him, wordlessly examining the abrasions.

   “...there are things you think you can face but you can’t,” he finished, voice quiet, almost strained, like he needed me to understand this one thing more than anything else.

   And, maybe I could understand it, but accepting it was something else.

   My hands bunched in my lap. “What? And you can?”

   “That’s different. I’m trained to—

   “—to leap around like Legolas taking down an elephant? What you did with the varterral? Reckless. Just coming to this cave knowing what was waiting was foolish. But we did and when things happened outside of the plan I reacted same as you. Don’t tell me I can’t.”

   “I will if the other option is you needlessly endangering yourself.”

   I pushed away from him. “So you should just endanger yourself instead? You should take on all the risk? You and everyone else?” I didn’t realize how angry I was at Garrett for taking on this stupid quest until the words started pouring out. Hell, they could have just put up a sign at the cave entrance warning people away, if the dead bodies littering the place hadn’t been warning enough. Or, maybe they could have caved the entrance so none of the nasties could get out to hurt anyone and no unsuspecting person would wander in. Sure, it wasn’t exactly what the Keeper asked for and maybe it wouldn’t have earned Merrill her tool but it was certainly less dangerous!

   I saw again in my mind the way Garrett’s body slammed against the wall, the sickening seconds when I wasn’t sure if the man I was racing towards was no more than a lifeless body. All the horrible fantasies of how this day could have ended in tragedy if one thing had been different replayed: Merrill’s throat being ripped out by an undead who surprised her from behind, Varric’s friendly face melted by acid, Fenris being a breath too slow and getting impaled by the varterral’s leg, Anders getting tangled in web, unable to free himself before a spider was on him…

   Garrett tried to rise after me but with a wince sunk right back down. “I need to protect—

   “—you can’t protect anyone if you’re dead,” I said then looked away, running a hand through my hair as I sucked in a deep breath. I spotted Anders finishing up with the cut on Scrapper’s side and moving to his paw.

   “Mel, look at me.”

   I resisted for a moment before begrudgingly giving into his command, arms folded in front of me. He looked exhausted but that challenging fire was in his eyes again. I met it.

   “Mel, promise me if you’re ever in situation like that again you run. Don’t put yourself into danger. Not for anyone.”

   “I can’t promise that,” I said, tone stiff. I knew to a degree he was right. I barely made it against the three undead with Scrapper on my side. I was being stubborn, but so was he.

   “Mel,” he growled.

   His tone said the conversation was far from over but it was for me. I turned on my heel towards Anders who was just finishing with Scrapper, ignoring the feel of Garrett’s eyes on my back.

   “You okay?” Anders pursed his lips at my dark expression, and without waiting for a response, ran a current of magic through me, scanning for injury. He lifted my left arm to place a hand at my side. I drew in a sharp breath, one part from the pressure, the other because the position reminded me of an intimate dance. The blue tingle swept across my skin, soothing away the the bruise and the damage underneath. He ran his palms down my arms, stopping at my hands. He grabbed his water skin and washed the dirt and grime away to examine my scrapes. I in turn examined how weary he looked. How much mana had he already expended during the battle and subsequent healings?

   I pulled away before he could heal me further. “I think bandages will suffice.”

   His face fell, quickly stowed away behind a resigned expression, as if he had been expecting me to say this. “Is it the magic?”

   “Yes,” I said, and his face shuttered.

   My eyes promptly widened in realization. “Oh, I mean, no, not like that. Magic is fantastic. No problem with that! It’s just that you look drained and there are others who still need you to look them over,” I waved my hands. “This is minor. I’ll live.”

   He caught my hands, turning them palm up like I had after I first learned of his magic. Perhaps he was remembering the same moment because his face grew soft. “But whose hands would I hold?”

   “I’m being serious.”

   “As am I.”

   “Anders.”

   He sighed. “Mel, I know my limits. I am far from them. I’ve tested them in extreme conditions. I’m fine. Thank you, though, for thinking of me.” He lifted my hands slightly. “So, may I?”

   I nodded. His hands began to glow faintly blue again. I watched with rapt attention as the scrapes on my hands sealed. When he was done, I brought them to my face. There were only the faintest of marks that would undoubtedly fade within minutes if my witnessing of Anders’ past healing on such minor injuries was standard.

   My mouth parted. I don’t think I would ever get over how wondrous magic could be.

   “Has anyone ever told you how incredible you are?” I asked him.

   His brows shot up at my words, as if unsure how to take them. Maybe because he’d never had anyone say such a thing to him.

   “I assume this question is rhetorical,” he said, looking like he wanted to brush my intended compliment away as if afraid to believe I meant what I said.

   But I did mean it. I squeezed his hands. “Let me clear up the ambiguity then: you’re incredible.”

   Anders looked stunned for several seconds before a dusting of pink came to his cheeks. His thumbs rubbed the inside of my palms, sending non-magical tingles up my arm. “Thank you. Though, I could never compare to how incredible you are, Mel.”

   He brought a palm up to his lips, placing the lightest of kisses at the center. Then he curled my fingers around the spot, as if giving me the most precious of gifts. From the way my heart sweetly ached, I think he did.

   When Garrett kissed the back of my hand the other night, I had convinced myself that it was a commonplace custom in Thedas, but now I wasn’t so sure. I’d ask Varric, my resident guide to Thedas, but of course, he’d get the wrong idea and whip out paper and pen. I was afraid of even letting myself get the wrong idea, because despite my knowing better, that warmth in my chest grew warmer still.

   I kept staring at my hands as I said, “I think Garrett might have busted some ribs or something playing hero earlier. Maybe you should check on him to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion and slip into a coma.”

   Anders didn’t say anything about my change of topic. He let my hand go and turned to look at Garrett. “I don’t think he’s in danger of that.”

   A glance over my shoulder showed Scrapper shoving his wet nose into his master’s face, smothering him with wet kisses to the point he toppled over.

   Anders sighed and headed over, an amused smile on his face at the affection between mabari and master. I couldn’t hear exactly what Anders said to Garrett, but it sounded like a gentle scolding. Garrett accepted it readily, voice pitched low in response, surely saying something ridiculous again. From the shaking of Anders’ shoulders, I knew he laughed as he pulled a potion from his satchel and handed it over. Obediently Garrett drank it and Anders brought his hands to his patient’s temples, searching for head trauma.

   There was an ease between them that spoke of years together sharing countless adventures, but there was a tension there too. It was in the way they’d meet each others’ eyes then quickly look away again. Garrett would unabashedly stare, and Anders would become intensely focused on whatever he was doing. When he stopped staring at his face, Anders would sneak a glance, the look familiar, like when we left Kirkwall and he told me how he met Garrett.

   “Don’t they make quite the pair?” Merrill asked as she came up beside me, hands clasped in front of her like a school girl daydreaming. All traces of the battle mage were gone.

   “They what?”

   “Isabella made a bet with Varric they’d get together,” she said as if she assumed I was in the know.

   It all snapped into place: Garrett’s protectiveness of Anders, Anders’ long looks at Garrett when he wasn’t watching, Garrett’s flirty comments about Anders’ electricity thing and trying to get Anders to move in with him...

   “Oh,” I said, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. “I see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this past weekend, and even had most of this written and polished up, but my heart wasn't in it to make those final edits. My dog passed away on Friday, and I spent most of the weekend coming to terms with saying goodbye to a friend I had in my life for about a dozen years. She was probably around 14-15 years old. She went peacefully and surrounded by those who loved her. She led a long, adventurous, and happy life. I'm thankful for all that. Saying goodbye to anyone you love is hard though. Do me a favor? Go give a big snuggle to whatever animal friend you have in your life from me. Thank you.  
> And as always, thanks for reading and supporting this fic <3


	12. Chapter 12

   As we journeyed through the caverns, I told the story of what happened to me after the group left to fight the varterral upon Varric’s pressing and Merrill’s seconding. Anders and Fenris appeared curious with how they hovered near, but neither pressed for details. Only Garrett looked determinedly disinterested as he led us out.

   The telling came out clipped as I hit all the main points. I found no glory or pride in the tale, only an unpleasant duty to be accomplished quickly. In the rush of everything happening, I didn’t have much time to worry if I might die. But I could have if only one thing was different: I was too slow on a swing, my fingers fumbled on a grenade, if the undead’s sword connected more solidly with Scrapper.

   I shoved my hands deep into my pockets to smother a slight tremble. So many people’s attention on me didn’t help, and one person’s palpable disapproval with the clenching of his jaw made me want to get through the tale all the faster. Not that my possible death or even my fight with Garrett were the heaviest things on my mind. No, it was something else that made me morose.

   Varric was having none of that though; once I finished my tale, he kept asking for more details until he had a rich account.  

   “If I knew you were going to take on a bunch of undead single-handedly I would have stuck around,” Varric said.

   “Armed with paper and quill, I’m sure,” Anders said, voice all good-natured though I could tell he sensed the underlying tension in our group with the way his eyes flickered from Garrett to me, not that he could have known what it stemmed from.

   “It wasn’t single-handed. I had Scrapper. He was my hero.” I cooed and scratched the mabari who trailed at my side, tail wagging at the praise he knew he was getting.

   “He doesn’t have hands,” Varric teased, and I grinned in turn though it felt tight on my face.

   “Don’t go writing nonsense stories about her,” Fenris said to Varric. “She doesn’t need to draw more attention.”

   “I wouldn’t write anything that wasn’t mostly true.”

   “Because the tale about Hawke taking on a horde of darkspawn solo was mostly true,” Anders said with a glance at Garrett’s backside with an affectionate smile that made the butterflies that had taken up resident in my stomach die to an early frost.

   “Define how many quantifies a horde,” Varric said.

   Everyone minus Garrett groaned and the group tapered off into silence. Anders cast a long glance at me, his customary worried crease coming to his forehead, but I pretended to not notice. He moved to walk alongside Garrett in front, no doubt deciding his time was better spent softening him. Varric, Merrill, and Scrapper made up the middle. Fenris hung back near me as we walked, which I thought was unusual, but he didn’t look at me or in anyway acknowledge me save for matching the length of his strides with mine. I was thankful. It made it easier to pretend my quietness came from weariness and not my thoughts circling the drain.  

   On Earth, I would foolishly let myself sprout feelings despite knowing the frost would come soon. It always did. I let myself look at someone from afar and thought distance would keep me unattached, that I wouldn’t notice the way their lips would twitch at a joke or how they’d rock on their heels when nervous. I thought coming closer, having them look at me with a kind smile and welcoming nudge wouldn’t shake me so much. I thought them asking me how I was meant they cared about the answer. And I didn’t let myself consider how hollowing it would feel to later see them walking down the sidewalk hand in hand with someone else, my name as memorable as chalk scribbles washed away by the rain.

   It was the kind of disappointment I was familiar with. When I was a teen, I knew my mother would inevitably have us moving again in a couple months, so why get attached? And when I was on my own and had finally begun putting down roots, I knew from experience that nothing would ever come from my attractions. After all, I couldn’t maintain even the most casual of friendships without great effort.

   But on Thedas, for the first time, people saw me. The warmth and acceptance had gone to my head. I had been allowing myself closer to Anders, Garrett, and even Fenris, hoping for what I hadn’t let myself put into concrete terms, but I had known I wanted more no matter that I knew better. But that wanting I let creep up on me like mid-afternoon shadows, and now they’d lengthened into dusk. Somehow I’d have to find my way forward like I’d always done despite wading in the dark.

   When we exited the caverns, I spared only a glance at the wide world around before I studied the path beneath my feet, determined to not slip again. Here on the ground, one foot after another, was where I belonged, not my stomach fluttering vapidly about. I snatched my array of emotions—disappointment, longing, sadness, and a lingering hope—and fed them to my anger I stoked, its heat brought to bear on myself.  

   I thought I’d ripped the remnants of my wings off in adolescence, but apparently I wasn’t immune to foolish flights of fancy. My stumps still flexed as if I leaped I wouldn’t simply plummet to the earth. I knew the brutal impact of reality well, knew back when my wings were still daydream soft, that the wind lifted others up and pushed some aside, flockless and unpaired. It was a cold, hard truth nested in my breast: like the sky, love didn’t belong to me. Yet I ignored it in favor of the possibility the expanse above offered. My wings became battered, broken, and as useless as I should have always known they were. They served only as a dead weight stooping my back, a reminder of what was out of reach. So I severed them, grounding myself. I thought the pain they brought would disappear. But the phantoms still ached though it had been years since I felt them.

   But this was good. This ache was a decisive stroke that cut through all the cobwebs slowing my way. My path was clear. Thedas was a temporary stop. I would be going home. I needed to focus on that. The rest was extraneous. I didn’t need attachments.

   With a deep breath followed by a long exhale, it felt like all my disparate thoughts rushed out of me. I settled into a steady tread, my mind ahead on the path to Flemeth, and hopefully, back to Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some mid week angst to get you to the weekend! And just in time for Valentine's too! I did tag this for angst right? *squints at screen*   
> Okay but in all seriousness as I was working on the next chapter, I realized it was going to be on the longer side with all the plot points I wanted to hit, and this part, all edited and polished, had a different tone and could stand as a short chapter of its own. So, here it is, early.   
> As always, thanks for reading. Also a big thank you to all of you who left such heartfelt comments last week about my loss. Your kind words meant a lot <3  
> To those interested in seeing me spam DA stuff and an odd assortment of other fandom stuff as well the occasional ramble about what I'm writing or reading or playing, you can find me on Tumblr as violetiris-ak.   
> Soon, Mel should start getting some answers to her questions. So excited for you all to read the upcoming chapters! *rubs hands together*


	13. Chapter 13

   I felt the barrier fall. The hairs on my arms had raised when we approached, but they fell once the barrier did. I wondered if the others felt it too. Merrill obviously was familiar, taking it down with blood magic. Her slicing her palm had set Fenris and Anders on edge; me too, but mainly for how much it looked like it stung. The narrowing of Anders’ eyes relaxed as soon as the barrier dropped, but Garrett waited until Merrill’s slight nod before he crossed. Interesting.

   I rubbed my forehead, recalling the pricking sensation when the undead rose. Something about that wasn’t normal. The flashes of memory, my hands white, sulfur on the air, came to me too; it hadn’t been the first time that fragment of my first memory of Thedas surfaced, but I still had no answers. Perhaps here though, I’d finally find some.

   We approached the stonework altar that looked like it belonged in a mausoleum, weathered stone slabs on either side. The cliff side overlooked the valley we had spent yesterday hiking through to reach the Dalish. If I reached out, I could trace the spines of the Free March mountains, the sea a distant glimmer lining the horizon. But my attention was drawn to this ancient elven monument. I hardly dared breath, for the slightest puff of air would disturb this sacred place.

   Merrill bowed before the altar, the movements ceremonious. She uttered elven words under her breath like a chant. I didn’t understand the direct meaning, but from the reverence in her voice, I knew she was beseeching Asha’Bellanar to come to us.

   Several minutes passed and nothing happened. Fenris rested on the balls of his feet, as if preparing to swing into action if necessary; with his distaste for all things arcane, it made sense that he would be wary of Flemeth. As more minutes passed, Varric shuffled from side to side, like he was wondering if he should be the one to suggest throwing the towel in on this plan, but Garrett shut out the others’ discomfort, staring at the altar intensely, as if he he could bring Flemeth here through sheer will.

   I moved to stand beside Merrill. On impulse, I laid a hand on the altar’s surface. Nothing but cool stone met my skin, but a second later, every fine hair on my body stood up, and pinpricks burst from my forehead and raced across my body so hard that I shook. Something was here. Something of a magnitude unlike anything else I had sensed in Thedas.

   I was met with confused glances from my companions when I turned around, but I looked past them to the old woman standing behind them, her arms crossed as she regarded me.

   Calling her an old woman didn’t do her justice. She was something more. What exactly I couldn’t put words to. Even if it wasn’t for the overwhelming sense of her otherness coming off her, just the way she dressed and carried herself made her unlike any old woman I had ever come across. A maroon leather dress with black trim showed off her voluptuous figure, and though her hair was sheer white and face lined with wrinkles, she burned with a vitality that many people, both old or young, didn’t possess.

   As if she could read my assessment of her, her dark painted lips twisted in a smirk that matched the light in her yellow eyes.

   “Apparently your crossing shredded the last of the charm,” she said with raspy, measured voice.

   The group whirled around to the Witch of the Wilds who had come upon them unaware. That fact wasn’t lost on me. Even Merrill and Anders hadn’t sensed her. Perhaps she only meant for me to sense her?

   “Flemeth, I presume,” I said.

   “I go by many names, but that one will suffice,” she said.

   Anders inched so he slightly obscured my body with his lanky frame. “What do you mean her crossing shredded the last of the charm?”

   “You should have a clue to what I refer. You sensed its remnants, did you not?”

   The conversation I overheard when I first woke up in the clinic came back to me. Anders had said something about sensing magical residue. Is that what she meant?

   Unconsciously, my hand went to grip my right shoulder and the movement wasn’t lost on Flemeth.

   “You sense the change, too.”

   “The …charm?” I hardly wore any jewelry, and hadn’t been wearing any when I woke in Thedas. What did she mean?

   “Your mark,” she said.

   I knew then. My birthmark. I was born with a brown patch on my right shoulder blade.

   “Anders, do you mind?” I asked, pulling down my shirt to expose my shoulder.  It went against my newly formed plan to establish distance between us for my own sake but it wasn’t like I was carrying around a pocket mirror and I had to know. Besides, he must have seen plenty of naked flesh at the clinic, not to mention he probably had no interest in me considering his interest in Garrett and past relationship with Karl. I bit my lip, grinding the self-pity to a halt.

   Anders touched my skin in a professional manner, fingertips searching. The quaver his touch sent through me was damning—I hadn’t been quick enough with toppering my emotions. Still, I squashed them in my mind, fingers digging into my arm as I held my shirt down for him. “Well, is there any mark?”

   “There’s none,” he said, tone neutral though a tint of color came to his cheeks as he dragged his eyes away from my skin. “Should there be?”

   “I have a brown patch, a birthmark. Well, had.” I said, biting the inside of my cheek this time as my gaze swung to Flemeth. “Care to explain?”

   Flemeth’s smile grew at my directness, like I was a mouse proving to be especially entertaining prey for a cat. I scowled. She was worse than Marethari.

   “How could my birthmark be a charm? There may be magic here, but there isn’t on Earth,” I pressed.  

   “And yet you’re still here. Just because Earth doesn’t have magic of its own doesn’t mean magic cannot effect it or enter—it simply doesn’t originate there.”

   Now that was a disturbing thought, but one I couldn’t ponder at this time.

   “But who would give me a charm? And for what purpose?”

   “Now you’re asking the right questions,”she said, fingers drumming silently on her arms. “But let’s address your last one. To what purpose you ask. Tell me, what changes have you noticed since your arrival?”

   Her smile said she held all the answers but wouldn’t give them unless earned. I swallowed my irritation at having to play 20 questions with the witch and considered. There were several strange occurrences. My sensitivity to magic might be unusual, but I wasn’t sure on that one; I didn’t have a baseline for normal. There was my attacker who burned and the memory of white, flashing heat, but as Aveline determined, I couldn’t be a mage. One of the most consistent things I noticed as odd was how people seemed to notice me now when they never did before. It was like I had been walking under a cloak of invisibility that someone whisked off once I woke in Thedas.

   My mouth opened as I neared the brink of a realization. “So this charm? What was it called? How did it work?”

   “They were in a bit of a rush to give it a name, though describing it as a reverse glamour charm would do.”

   The entire party perked at this.

   Varric looked to Garrett, “How is that—”  

   “...possible?” he finished, frowning.

   Varric looked to me. “We rogues with a talent for trap-making use glamour charms to distract the enemy, to lure them away from us by drawing their attention elsewhere. I haven’t the faintest idea how to make a reverse glamour charm, though I suppose I could understand the appeal if you could make it portable. Theoretically, it’d make the wearer unobtrusive, forgettable to most passing by. Perfect for a stealth operation. To engineer such a charm would be a stroke of brilliance and a ticket for immense wealth if one were up for selling the schematics. But even if I could come up with such a design, I’d need a skilled mage to create it.”

   “And to make it a lasting mark on your body for over two decades would require a tremendous amount of power,”Anders said, picking up the thread of thought to continue stringing it along. “It’d be enough to burn out a single mage.”

   “Or bleed out a person,” Fenris added, arms crossed.

   “And who would want to place that on you unless they wanted to hide you away from someone,” Garrett said, for once not purposefully looking away from me. His jaw clenched, anger simmering under the surface at the perceived, unknown threat.

   My body grew cold as the realization seeped in enough to saturate. I saw my entire life in a new light. If what Flemeth insinuated was true, I had been under the influence of the charm my whole childhood. I always secretly suspected something was wrong with me with how I struggled to have relationships with those around me, but I always thought it was a flaw in my personality that made me forgettable to others, not some curse. Even now the concept seemed absurd.

   If I even voiced such a notion as a curse to my mother, I’m sure she would have laughed. Even now, after everything I’d been exposed to in Thedas, I still felt her opinion color mine. She didn’t raise me to buy into what she’d have deemed foolishness, and never spent an ounce of time pretending any of it was real. If we walked by a new age shop advertising palm readings, she’d laugh at the absurdity. “They can’t tell your future,” she’d say with a dismissive hand wave, the same gesture she’d direct at fortune cookies and horoscopes. Santa? Not real, though she always scraped together some kind of Christmas present for me, she just didn’t pretend it was from some fairy tale creature. Same for the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. I had always felt a sense of pride that she was straight with me. We’d always see the world for what it was. Whatever came our way, at least there would never be fabrications between us.

   But there was something between us. It took me well into my teens to realize my mom was different than others since I was so isolated, but I noticed the first red flags in elementary school. Since there was no truth to these fairy tales, I didn’t take them seriously, but I also didn’t see the harm in participating, especially if it meant I could have the chance to make friends. Like when she forbade me from trick-or-treating and would bolt the door and turn off the light so no trick-or-treaters would bother with our front door, as if the veil between the spirit world and the mortal plain really was thin on Halloween and demons stalked the Earth. Of course that was ridiculous. There were no demons. I knew it just as I knew there weren’t angels. Where were they to save me when she—

   “Mel?” Anders touched my arm, breaking me from the torrent of thoughts coursing through me.

   I broke from his anchoring touch by angling my body away, arms coming up to hug myself. I made sure not to look at his face so if there was any flinch of hurt from my brusque move, I wouldn’t see the it.

   But I saw the question on everyone’s faces: what did I just realize? I was too pissed to explain. I needed no confirmation from Flemeth to know that I had reached the right conclusion because I could see the spark of knowing in her eyes. Someone had fucked with my life in one of the cruelest ways imaginable by making me near incapable of forming lasting relationships with those around me.

   And if that magic broke when I finally crossed over to Thedas, that would explain why Garrett and crew’s treatment of me was so odd, or really, wasn’t. They had helped me, listened to me, included me, and all the while I had been thrown by their behavior as if there were something wrong with them. But the wrong was with me, done to me. How many connections had I missed on Earth because no one could really see and hold onto me?

   “Why?” I ground out.

   “To protect you from dangerous eyes.”

   “Whose?”

   Flemeth sighed as if the answer was obvious. “Demons.”

   “Demons? Are you serious?”A laugh tumbled out of me as my fingers dug into my arms hard enough to bruise, but no one laughed along with me like I hoped.

   Garrett looked to Varric. “You didn’t tell her about demons?”

   “I figured the flesh and blood demons at the Hanged Man were more pressing to know about,” Varric said, casting a side glance at Anders who didn’t meet his gaze or Fenris’ who looked like he’d turn Anders into an ice sculpture if he could.

   Adding a dollop of demons to Thedas’ sundae of crazy wasn’t what I needed right now. I was having a hard enough time coming to terms with the fact that my entire life on Earth had been horribly manipulated by a charm meant to shield me from said demons. Who would be insane enough to think—

   My head snapped to Flemeth. “Who put the charm on me?”

   “Your parents, of course,” she said, her face saying she full well knew the punch in the stomach she’d just delivered.

   I swallowed the bile rising in my throat as the world spun. I reached out to steady myself, finding Garrett’s bicep, but I couldn’t be damned to care if he was still giving me the cold shoulder because I felt like the earth had just split beneath my feet and I was in danger of falling.

   The father I never knew and the mother who had been my world had clipped my wings so that I might never make a flock of friends and perhaps someday even a lover, all in the name of keeping me safe from storybook creatures. It was so insane I could almost laugh. But I swallowed that down too, knowing it’d sound hysterical, unhinged even, and I definitely wasn’t, not like __her__.  

   “Um,” Merrill, who had previously been quietly starstruck in front of Flemeth, said, “but if Mel is from Earth, and there’s no magic there, how did they place a charm on her?”

   “An excellent question, Merrill,” Garrett said, eyes narrowed at Flemeth. It wasn’t until he spoke, his chest rumbling against my back, that I realized his arms had come around to hold me up.

   “I could answer that, but it’s not my perception of events you seek.”

   “Yes, but it would still provide answers,” Anders said, looking as angry as Garrett sounded as he continued to hover near like he could shield me from the pain of these revelations.

   “But there would still be questions,” she said. She walked near me, making Fenris tense. She cast him a bemused glance, as if he chose to attack her, it would be like a fly going after a bear—only an annoyance.

   “But less questions,” I pushed, finding my voice along with my feet.

   “You really are like my Morrigan, thinking you must know best. Are all daughters the same?” She smiled, in on a joke of her own. She pulled a dagger from behind her back and placed the handle in my hand. “This belonged to your father. It holds the answers you seek.”

    “My father,” I whispered, examining the blade near by face. For a second, I thought I saw a different pair of eyes reflected back at me, but no, they were only my stormy gray. The sun glinted off the metal, beckoning. It was a lot shinier than the rusty sword I carried but I didn’t see how this answered anything. I looked up questioningly, but it was the man whose hands still held my shoulders that spoke.

   “Is that a masterwork blade?” Garrett said by my ear as he leaned in close for a better look. “It’s in fantastic condition.”

   “That’s the idea. More durable than parchment,” Flemeth said and laughed.

   “While it’s … nice to have something that belonged to him, I don’t see how this answers anything.”

   “You will. The answers are in your blood. Only you can unlock them.”

   I remembered Merrill slicing her palm. What if…

   I pricked my finger on the tip before anyone could stop me, a single drop of blood running down the blade. Everyone stiffened in the group and Fenris looked like he wanted to shake me with the way his eyes blazed. I felt a thrum of power—this was more than a simple dagger—but it dissipated quick, the sensation like tumblers in a lock jamming halfway. There had to be something more to it, right? Magical maybe, like a chant or password or something.

   I bit my lip and looked up at Flemeth, hoping, but she dashed it with a single shake of her head.

   “I have told you what was told to me. Your mother wouldn’t have ensured this in my safekeeping if she didn’t provide you with a way of using it. All you need to do is remember, and then you’ll know more of the story than even I do.”

   “Remember? I can’t even remember how I got here,” I said, flashing back to waking up in the Darktown alleyway covered in blood. I glanced at the ground, recalling how the blood stained the ground already covered in refuse and a shudder ran through me.

   “Well then, that memory would be a start, wouldn’t it?” her smile grew, one that held many secrets. “Perhaps more evenings spent by the fire will help. I’m sure it’ll spark something.”

   “But couldn’t you at least tell me—

   But when I looked up again, Flemeth was gone.

 

 

 

   Everyone talked amongst themselves as we headed back to Kirkwall except me. I erected a wall so no one would touch or try to talk to me. I hugged my arms around myself as if that might keep me from falling apart. It was all I could do to place one foot after the other. I wanted, no needed, answers, but they were still out of reach. And the answers I did have only raised more questions.

   All things considered, I think I’ve dealt well with the shock of waking up in a new world and almost dying a couple times, but I think I’ve finally hit my threshold. Crazy was Thedas and Earth was normal but what was I supposed to do when they overlapped? The distinctions blurred and I was left questioning everything.

   I’ve never considered myself an angry person. I always accepted whatever hand was dealt to me, knowing at least there would be a new round later. Maybe it was my inability to bluff or folding too soon or just my luck but the cards never came in my favor. I’d accept my losses with grace knowing that the losing streak couldn’t last forever. I never suspected the deck was stacked against me. I never suspected, of all things, that the house cheated me in some twist of absurd logic to protect me. But now I understand how those poker tables get flipped, why there’s shootouts in the old Wild West films. I wanted to slam the faceless man in my memories who was supposed to be my father and pin the collar of his jacket to the table with his dagger, demanding answers. More than anything, I wanted to sit across from my mother who had years to make me understand her but instead, left me to decipher her erratic behavior: the constant moving, her evasive answers, her contradictory beliefs, and her paranoia.

   What troubled me most was under this new light, her behavior didn’t seem so mad now that I knew demons were real, too. What if she knew they existed and thought they were after us? Of course she wouldn’t want attention drawn to me, a kid, and she wouldn’t let us place roots down anywhere because what if we were found? She wouldn’t tell me anything not to frighten me, so that explained why I never knew anything.

   I breathed in sharply as I touched the memory I’d left buried for years, the one that made me realize my mother wasn’t stable. My hands played at my neck, as if grappling with invisible fingers, and I shut my eyes tight to block it all out.

   Somethings though didn’t add up, like __that__. So did much more. How would my parents have learned about demons? How would they have had the skills to make such a charm? Why would demons be after us instead of literally anyone else? And how would a demon be able to cross from Thedas to Earth?

   My fingers found the hilt of my father’s dagger, knuckles going white. Somehow, I would find my answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I play a rogue in Origins, I tell myself I'm going to make traps this time. Then I don't. I just throw my points into lock picking, because despite the promises of my beloved pointy eared assassin, he cannot pick locks and somebody's got to do it. However I can confirm that glamour charms do exist. Reverse glamour charms though are my own invention.  
> Anyways, looks like things are getting interesting for Mel now that she has a solid lead. I already know what I want to go down in upcoming chapters and I.Can't.Wait.   
> As always, thanks for reading and your continued support of this fic. I love to hear from you! :)


	14. Chapter 14

   I had told Corff and Norah that I’d be leaving for a couple days, though I didn’t mention the possibility that I might not ever return, leaving that to Varric if Marethari had been successful. Maybe I should have been disappointed having to walk back under the morbid hanging man by the front door, but all I felt was relief. Here I knew to expect drunks, arguments over Wicked Grace, and reckless flirting. No undead, spiders, or all-knowing sorceresses.

   I flung my pack in the back and threw myself into work without being asked, thankful for something to distract myself. My head had been too full lately, and if I worked hard enough, I could go from weary to exhausted and fall asleep immediately once my head hit my bedroll tonight instead of staring at the ceiling for hours, or like the previous night, the slope of my tent with a snoring mabari beside me.

   Garrett was escorting Merrill to her home in the alienage presumably so she wouldn’t get lost and then Anders to Darktown—no surprise there—but he promised he’d be by soon to see what we could do to trigger my missing memories, apparently putting our disagreement to the side. Varric had accompanied me inside, heading straight for his room to sleep on a real bed, he said.

   Surprisingly, Fenris came in too. Coming to the Hanged Man every night had become his new normal, but I still figured that he might want to return home for a hot bath and decent night’s sleep too. He looked like he could use it, not staying up late drinking. I felt his eyes on me when I emerged from the kitchen, and he didn’t even have to ask me to bring him a bottle of wine.

   “Thank you for accompanying me to Sundermount,” I said as I set his bottle in front of him. I felt like there was so much more to say and yet nothing at the same time. There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there when I last served him.

   I silently sucked in my breath when a tinge of a smile took his lips. “You’re welcome, Amelia,” he said, as if unsure of the words.

   Despite my tiredness, a smile came to me in return. Finally, he’d said my name. Not my shortened version, sure, but still. I liked how the sound of it on his tongue rolled down my spine.

   I quickly gave him a nod of acknowledgement before diving back into my work. I berated myself for being pleased—I had decided to put the distance back in place between all of us after all. But for a moment, I let myself enjoy it for what it was before putting it aside from my mind and wiping my stupid grin off my face.

   It took me a moment to notice another pair of eyes on me, but these didn’t hold the comfort that Fenris’ did. A man in his fifties with short, combed back silver hair with bags under his eyes kept to himself in one of the quieter corners of the tavern. His robes seemed oddly out of place, though that might just be because it wasn’t a common style in Kirkwall. He wasn’t one of the regulars.

   I nudged Norah when I went to set down a platter of emptied ales. “Who is that?”

   “Him? Don’t know his name but he started staying at the Hanged Man the day after you left. He’s never made any trouble, if that’s what you want to know, but he’s a bit…”

   “...creepy.” I finished. I don’t know what made me say that. There was just something off about him.

   “Yeah, well, when I first served him he kept staring at my ankles like he’d never seen a pair before, real excited like, but once I got close enough for him to get an eyeful, he just shook his head and muttered to himself ‘Those won’t do.’ I’ve never heard of a man who had a fetish for ankles, and such high standards too!” Norah stuck a leg out to see her much criticized ankle to search for some unapparent flaw. “Anyways, I’ve been making Corff serve him. You can too if he’s making you uncomfortable.”

   “I just might,” I said, but when I looked to the man’s table, he had already vacated.

   I shrugged him off as another one of Kirkwall’s oddballs and headed off to the kitchen to see how badly Corff had made a mess of things while I was gone.

   Hours later I was in the back room stretching my sore muscles. Norah and I had cleaned the main tavern room in record time and we didn’t even have to drag out any too intoxicated patrons. Also I got several sizable tips from folks who saw that I had returned, and presumably, would soon be back in the kitchen cooking up edible food. I went over my plans to hit up the food stalls in the morning as I laid down, and before I knew it, darkness swiftly snatched me away.

 

 

 

   I startled awake what felt like seconds later, prickles dancing on my skin. I cocked my head, listening intently for the slightest sound but there was nothing. It must be my imagination, primed from days of adventure and excitement, I figured. I rearranged myself on my bedroll trying to go back to sleep, but it was too late, I had thought of the last few days, and all the things I didn’t want to think about came rushing to the forefront of my brain: spiders, Fenris being enigmatic, undead, my tiff with Garrett, my stupid emotions getting attached to people they knew better than to, Flemeth and her cryptic ‘help,’ my parents and theirs unfathomable and life-altering decisions.

   I straightened my blankets with an aggressive snap. Letting some of the irritation out felt good, but it didn’t dissipate after I settled myself again. Instead, it stoked into a simmering anger tugging to be unleashed. The more I dwelled on it, the more my frustration grew. I kicked off my blankets and stalked around my closet-sized room, the space for the first time feeling too confining. Maybe I should go to the kitchen and get a head start on prepping breakfast or maybe see if there is anything needing to be cleaned? I wasn’t going to get any sleep like this. But in this mood, I felt like I was as likely to throw a dish at the wall than wash it.

   That didn’t feel right coming from me. I paused once at the door, sucking in several deep breathes. The anger seemed to distance itself from me, like it was a coat I could remove after getting too heated. Like it was never a part of me.

   On my tongue, though faint, was the taste of sulfur and ash. I put out all the downstairs fires so nothing should be burning, and Norah and I hadn’t found any cinders from pipes when we cleaned the floors.  

   I made my way to the kitchen across the dark tavern floor. The chairs resting on the tables looked like a barren forest. My eyes darted around as if there was someone hiding in the shadows watching, but as I studied the darkness, I knew it was nothing more than my overactive imagination. No one could get into the tavern after hours unless they were an exceptional lockpick. Still, I tiptoed silently across the room, and managed to open the kitchen door without a creak before slipping inside.  

   I lit a candle then chuckled at my foolishness; there were no monsters hiding in the dark. Everything was just as we had left it. My cooking pot rested well scrubbed on the table for me to use in the morning, the ladle beside it. The emptied wash tub leaned against the water barrel after Norah had finished wringing the mop. Corff’s account books with paper sticking from it at odd angles was still squeezed between the jars of sugar and yeast.

   I turned to go when pain blossomed across my forehead and light flared behind me, as if someone had dropped a heap of kindling on a fire all at once. Then the scent of sulphur was unmistakable. I turned right back around and dropped the candle.

   Some monsters come with the light.

   An amorphous beast of fire pulled itself from between the floorboards. As it came to stand to its towering height, it stretched out its powerful arms with a rage-filled roar. When its pair of swirling yellow eyes pinpointed me, it swept across the floor leaving ash in its wake.

   It never got in reaching distance as I dashed out the door, but the fireball it hurled almost did, scorching the floor where I had stood only a second ago. I vaulted over the bar and almost ran straight for the back of the Hanged Man but quickly aborted that plan. What the hell would my rusty sword do against a fire monster?

   “Varric! Isabela!” I screamed as I ran up the stairs taking them two at a time.

   The stairs at the top of the flight burst into splinters and flame. The wood groaned, all the warning given before the stairs caved beneath my feet. Everything went black for a second, and when awareness returned so did the sensation of pain. A smoldering beam had collapsed on me, already having burned through the fabric of my dress to brand the flesh of my right leg. I didn’t cry out, my breath coming in too frantic pants, and shoved the beam off. Agony lanced through my hands but I gritted my teeth and flipped onto my stomach, trying to see through my watery eyes and the smoke filled room.

   I crawled under the nearest table, dodging another blast from the fire monster who had positioned itself between me and the front door. There it was in my peripheral, its crackles sounding like a harsh, guttural language. For a moment, I thought I heard my name, but I knew it had to be nothing more than my panicked brain trying to find something recognizable in this madness. I dove under the next table before a fiery arm smashed my first one with a single swoop.

   A quick scan of the now well lit room told me nothing that I didn’t already know: that I was trapped, surrounded by all things flammable. I eyed the kitchen entrance, its door ajar. If I could just get back inside, I could use the water barrel as some kind of defense. If not that, I was desperate enough to try prying off the window slats and seeing if I might be able to wiggle through.

   I bolted from underneath my table not a moment too soon, but I only got a few strides away before my injured leg betrayed me, sending me crashing to the floor. The floorboard touching my burned skin shot searing pain through my body. I rolled to take all pressure from it and then came face to face with the demonic thing hovering over me. The heat and rage coursing off it hit me like a burst of mental magic, stunning me.

   Over the snapping of the fire, I heard bootsteps pounding on the second floor, awakened by the destruction below. I heard the front door break down and an unmistakable deep voice yell my name. But two arms of fire embraced me, and then all I could hear was my scream. Then an energy surged through me, white hot, and there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure at this point we can all imagine the kind of Yelp review Mel would leave for the Hanged Man. Or Kirkwall for that matter.   
> Kirkwall is a 10/I Don't Know What Civil Rights is Destination Spot  
> "Kirkwall is the perfect vacation place for anyone who doesn't mind the occasional mugging and/or stabbing attempt. A great place to keep you on your toes! You'll never know what to expect next!   
> Go where the locals do and visit the Hanged Man. The ale isn't much to speak of but if you drink enough of it you won't question what you're eating and why you've lost three hands in a row to the sultry pirate captain.   
> Or if you want to see the sights, you can visit High Town and the Viscount's Keep. It's a real life example of social stratification in action! Highly educational! Witness how far this former slave city has come. Now they even let their elves have their own section of the city to themselves. How progressive! We haven't even annulled our Circle...yet.  
> Yes, this city is the prime example of forward thinking and solidarity and by solidarity we mean standing with the status quo. Speaking of status quo I gotta go and tithe at the Chantry. They're fundraising for another golden statue of Andraste. Too bad I'll have to push through the rabble asking for charity at the door. *whines in Orlesian*"
> 
> Soooo how's it going everyone? Hope you all had a great weekend.


	15. Chapter 15

   I was a child again, light enough to be carried. With my head lolled against a firm, warm chest and strong arms encircling me, I could shut out the sounds of people shouting. But I couldn’t help but hear the heart hammer by my ear, the deep voice begging for me to wake up.

   “Please. Please open your eyes. Stay with me, Mel.”

   A calloused hand stroked sweaty hair from my face, leaving a pleasant hum behind where before my skin simmered in agony. I wanted grasp it, let him know everything was going to be okay, that he could let me sleep. I couldn’t move my body though, the darkness pulling me into frozen depths.

   “I sent Rivaini to get Blondie. Now here, give her this. It’s not much, but it’s something until he arrives. There’s the bath. I’ll get Corff and Norah to help bring up some water on the ladder. We need to cool her down fast.”

   A bottle pressed against my lips, his other hand tilting my head back so a familiar floral tasting concoction flowed down my throat. I coughed, trying to turn away. I only wanted the humming hands on me. They made me feel warm and kept the pain fringing on the edges. Despite my feeble struggles, he made me drink the whole bottle as people stamped about in the room. There was a sloshing sound. Then the voices were gone.

   He hoisted me up. I whimpered at the movement and burrowed my face in his leather clad shoulder. Coolness touched my toes, ankles, stomach, then breasts, and it soothed no more than a reaper’s kiss, making me shiver. I was already far too cold. Though gently dipped, I writhed when his hands no longer touched my bare skin, agony racing up my sides unhindered. Everything hurt. I wanted to shed my body, accept the darkness beckoning, or better yet, crawl underneath his skin.

   My back muscles clenched from straining to remain upright, fingers trembling on the metal sides. His hands tried to guide my head to lean back in the water’s embrace but I stiffened. The water wanted me, wanted to play with me before passing me to the darkness. It lapped at my skin, longing to pull me inside it with a single swallow. If I laid down, it would never let me rise back up.

   “Mel, it’s okay,” the man said with a rough whisper.

   I knew those words, recognized them for the lie they were. I’d heard them from trusted lips before. His hands came too close to my neck, and I knew what would happen next: the strength he cradled me with he’d turn against, shoving me underneath the surface until the cold filled my mouth, nose, and lungs as lips would continue to lie, saying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. This is the only way” just as __she__  had.  

   The water came up to my neck, then chin, but before it could silence my lips I screamed. My fingers tore into his arms and held fast. The hum of skin pushed back enough of the pain for me to find words.

   “Please. Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything, be better, but please, please…”

   The hands dropped me as if scalded. I slipped back in the water, grappling with the sides of the tub with only the thought of getting out, desperation lighting up my veins. I reached after him, eyes struggling open.

   Wide, unwavering green eyes in a face too pale met mine. He stood before me, the rivulets of blood on his forearms like crimson tattoos interweaving with his blue. I heard a cacophony of voices coming close, but it was this man, the one with the voice as deep and smooth as a river stone, that I needed to understand.

   “Please,” I begged with the last of my strength, fingers shy of his skin. I slumped forward as the voices burst through the door, as the darkness snuck back and whisked me away.


	16. Chapter 16

   “Ah, good. You’re finally awake. Maybe now my son will stop wearing a hole in the carpet,” said a woman with gray hair and kind eyes. Clapping my hand once, she rose, taking along a white cloth that had been draped across my forehead and hanging it on the rim of a bowl set beside the bed.

   “I’m Leandra, Garrett’s mother, and you are at our home. You’re Amelia Payne, though you like to go by Mel, I’m told. I’ve heard a lot about you the last three weeks.”

   Three weeks!? I hadn’t been in Thedas that long, had I? I tried sitting up, but my body had other plans.

   “I wouldn’t be trying that if I were you. You might have been out for a week but it doesn’t mean you’re healed up yet. You’re lucky you’re friends with such a skilled healer. He was able to put you into the…oh, what did he say it was? Basically an induced sleep to help you heal without being in too much pain and to limit the stress on your body. The whole thing was a close call, but those can happen when demons are involved. Though it seems like you’ve had a lot of close calls since coming to Kirkwall, I’ve heard. You attract trouble as much as Garrett. But friends too. So many have stopped by to check up on you. They’ll be thrilled to know you’re awake.”

   Leandra gave me a wait here sign as she ducked out the room, though it wasn’t like I could go anywhere. I sunk into the pillows without her energy to billow me up.

   I examined my new surroundings as her words settled in. The bed canopy looked regal, like it belonged to some guest room at the palace of Versailles. The rest of the room coordinated in warm reds, browns, and golds, giving the place a rich and estate-esque appearance. I certainly wasn’t at the Hanged Man.

   What happened to the the tavern? Surely they must have had to close down for repairs. Oh and the demon! Whatever happened to it? Having a demon chase me through the establishment probably fell under Corff’s criteria of causing trouble. My hard work ethic and quality meals wouldn’t be enough for him to overlook his business nearly being burned to the ground. I was definitely out on my ass. I was going to have recuperate quick since I was going to have to line up some other work. If the building still stood, I sure hoped Corff and Norah held onto my things for me. Starting over again was going to be that much harder if I didn’t have money or even a spare change of clothes.

   Wait, I was wearing clothes this time, wasn’t I? A quick glance under the covers confirmed I was dressed, though in a nightgown with enough frills for it to come straight out of the Little Princess.

   The door slammed open, Garrett filling the frame. “Mel,” he breathed, then crossed the room to me by the next.

   “Hey,” I managed, suddenly self-conscious with what a wreck I must look.

   Garrett’s large hands covered mine, eyes intent on my face. “How do you feel?”

   “Been better,” I said, shifting to find a more comfortable position. “Been worse too.”

   I cringed. Could I be more awkward? The answer was probably yes.

   “Are you in pain? Anders left a potion here in case the discomfort was too much when you woke. I’ve already sent word. He’ll be here as soon as he’s able to leave the clinic to examine you.”

   There was some pain, but it was more like a dull ache, unless I shifted too much, then it flared. But I could tolerate it.

   “I’m fine,” I said, quickly trying to mask a wince when Garrett shifted on the mattress, making my body slide in his direction, chafing my still sensitive skin.

   His eyes narrowed. He reached to the nightstand and uncorked a pink bottle. “Drink.”

   I sighed, accepting the medicine. I lifted the bottle, arms sending a slight twinge at the movement. Immediately Garrett grabbed the bottle, tilting it for me. I had a moment of deja vu—like waking up in Anders’ clinic all over, and…something else… but the memory slipped from my grasp. I drank the whole thing and he placed the bottle back on the stand. I studied the silky sheets under my fingertips and wondered at the thread count; they were nicer than anything I’d had on Earth.

   “So, some of what happened last night, I mean last week, is a bit of a blur, though I’m aware of the headline: demon swings by local tavern, and in a rage, decides to start a one-sided bar fight with the hired help. Am I leaving anything out?”

   “From what I’ve been told, one thing. Varric said he saw a flash of white light but couldn’t tell the source since he was still on the second floor when it went off due to a lack of stairs.”

   I nodded. “When it touched me, I felt an energy and then there was a light. I don’t remember anything after that. I must have passed out. But it’s like what happened in Darktown. Maybe it’s safe to say that the first time wasn’t some fluke and I’m connected somehow.”

   Garrett nodded, face troubled. “I also think it’s interesting you picked up on the rage aspect of the demon considering you didn’t know anything about them.” He looked up, face questioning.

   “Before the attack I felt irritated, and increasingly angry over things, while upsetting, I normally wouldn’t let myself so worked up over. That and the demon just seemed pissed off, so…”

   “It was a rage demon. Never heard of someone being so attuned to their essence before.” His frowned deepened.

   So maybe my sensing magical things around me like the undead or the barrier wasn’t as normal as I thought. And something about the demon felt familiar, and I couldn’t place why.

   Both of us remained quiet for a minute, deep in thought. Neither of us had any easy answers.

   “We’re going to figure this out, and I’m going to find who is coming after you,” he promised.

   “You think someone is targeting me?”

   “Demons don’t just pop up in Thedas unless one of three things happen: there is a tear in the Veil, which is an extremely rare occurrence; somebody gets possessed while in the Fade either through a deal or trick; or a mage summons a demon. All of these are predicated on the use of magic in some way, so if I had to guess, a mage out there somewhere wants you dead. I mean to find out why.”

   “Well, shit,” I said as I considered the implications. I ran a hand over my face as if I could easily wipe away my muddled thoughts. “So, after I passed out, what then? I guess you dispatched the demon.”

   “Not me, Fenris. Or that’s what Varric supposed. Fenris ran out just as I was arriving.” Garrett aimed for levity with his smile though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Mel, the Hanged Man’s main area was in shambles, and you…we almost lost you.”

   “Oh,” I said, voice small. I knew I had been in danger, but there had been no time to worry, only act. Free from adrenaline and spiking fear, the thought that I had come so close to death was incredibly sobering. I flipped through the attack like pictures in a scrapbook, taking a moment to absorb each image: the flare of the demon casting my shadow against the kitchen wall; a table sturdy enough for drunken dancing collapsing into a gout of flame, wooden splinters sticking out like broken bones through skin; my scream filling the room, almost overlaying the crash of the door and a deep voice—Fenris—calling my name. He saved my life a second time, hadn’t he?

   There were scraps of other memories, a humming warmth, the sensation of cool metal, fear in my veins, blood on arms, that had to be a jumble from what came after. I couldn’t make sense of them yet, so I set them aside, unable to stitch them together with the way Garrett stared at me, as if trying to memorize every inch of my face. I avoided his gaze as a blush began to creep up my neck, hyper aware of his hands on mine.

   We remained that way for a time. I knew it meant nothing, knew that my heart beating too fast in my chest at the contact would ache for the loss later, but I didn’t pull away. I should have but he seemed lost in thought, and his touch, just like back in Aveline’s office, was comforting. I didn’t have the energy to resist his pull.

   I tried to ask more questions about the attack to determine how far along his investigation had progressed during the week I was out, but he in turn resisted, steering me away from that night to lighter territory. He chatted at me about the estate, the books I could read, the lute he’d allow me to try my hand at playing as long as I  didn’t sing like a dying goat, in which case, I could only practice at noble parties once I was well, he teased; then he peppered me with silly anecdotes about Hightown nobles that made me smile and roll my eyes in only the way that Garrett could.   

   Leandra strolled back in with a glass of water, making me jump. A knowing smile came to her as she looked at us, her gaze settling on where we touched. Instinctively I began to pull back, but Garrett’s grip tightened in response, as if afraid of letting go. I could have pulled away if I wanted, and he would have let me, but something about his hesitancy made my stupid heart stutter in my chest. I let him continue to hold my hands, figuring it would be up to Garrett to explain to his mother if she got the wrong idea.

   I dutifully drank my water as Garrett fussed and Leandra fluttered around the room, opening up curtains to let in fresh air and hide her amusement. She paused at the window, glancing down to what I presumed must be the streets.

   “Oh, he’s already here,” she breathed in surprise.

   I didn’t get a chance to ask her to specify because I heard a door somewhere and then two pairs of feet flying in our direction, one pair swift, the other trailing.

   “I really ought to-” A voice gasped for air. “-announce you messere!”

   The other person didn’t respond but burst into my room much like Garrett had done. It took me a moment to place the man with the loose blond hair and bags under his eyes as Anders.

   This time I did pull my hands away from Garrett’s, hoping Anders hadn’t noticed. It was one thing for Leandra to get the wrong idea, but it would be devastating if Anders did. I was not going to wreck Garrett and Anders’ chance of happiness together over some misunderstanding over me. I refused to be an impediment.

   Garrett frowned at my move, glancing from me to Anders just as Anders also caught the tail end, though if he made anything of it, it didn’t show on his face.

   Garrett moved out of the way, letting Anders fill his place. His hands grasped mine, the familiar feel of magic pulsing between us as he scanned.

   “Here I was thinking I was the one that got attacked. You look terrible,” I blurted, apparently the run in with the demon having fried the line between brain and tongue.

   “You stole my line,” he said with a worn smile.

   I scrunched up my nose at him. “Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.”

   “That’s because I save those desires for when I’m in bed,” he shot back with a wink, shocking a laugh out of me. Garrett too, who stuffed part of his fist in his mouth from the corner of the room he claimed.

   Leandra’s eyes darted between the two men like she was trying to make sense of who in a soap opera was the main lead; it would explain why she was dilly-dallying with the flowers in a nearby vase: free entertainment. If only I could somehow not awkwardly explain to her that they both were the main leads and I was the second lead thrown in for a dash of drama and angst and to not get overly attached to any ship with me on board, for it would undoubtedly sink.

   After several minutes more of Anders examining, he sighed and sat back. By this time Leandra had run out of plausible activities for herself to do in the room, following the blue-eyed dwarf who had struggled to keep up with Anders back down the stairs.

   “What’s the prognosis, Doc?” I asked. I had noticed how his forced cheeriness became more strained, causing tension to leak into me too.  

   “You’re much further along than I had hoped. There’s almost no signs of burns, though keep in mind your body is still recovering from the shock. Magic heals much but time is a great healer too and shouldn’t be underestimated. Bed rest for another week, and then only light exercise the following,” he said before walking me through some stretches for my leg, finishing with a slight pat to the aforementioned limb.

   “That’s because I have such a great healer,” I said.

   Anders smiled slightly at the compliment, but it didn’t light his face. “That’s not always enough.”

   My stomach twisted. Anders stared into space like that first night in the clinic, as if seeing me slip away. I recalled the fear coursing through me when Garrett slammed against the cavern walls. Suddenly, I felt like the greatest ass for teasing Anders. The wild hair and eyes weren’t simply because he stayed up late working all week, but because worry had been eating at him. Worry for me. Garrett had been worried too, though he hid it better. Maybe I should have realized straightaway, but I wasn’t used to this level of concern leveled at me. By anyone.

   “Bed rest, one week. Got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These last couple of weeks have been wild. First car trouble then computer troubles. What fun! At least the car troubles have been mostly fixed. Computer might take longer but at least I've saved everything and have my other computer as backup, even though it's definitely slower. So this is your friendly reminder that if you're writing something or have other important stuff on your computer to back it up and save it on the cloud or spare drive or something. Never know when technology is going to play games with you.  
> But on a more positive note my fangirl heart has been made very happy with the month of April due to Game of Thrones, Fruits Basket, Attack on Titan, End Game, and the teaser trailer for the new Star Wars film, the latter which I spent my breaks at work today analyzing like it was the Rosetta Stone.   
> Also, on an even more exciting note, did anyone else see the news that AO3 got nominated for a Hugo Award for Best Related Works? I guess this means all the writers on here are indirectly nominated now, which is pretty cool because I know I've read so many amazing stories on here that deserve the honor. Though it's more the site itself as collective and what it's done for fandom overall, which is why it's being nominated I think, but still incredibly awesome and well deserved. Congrats to all the site workers and volunteers who run this place as well as the writers who produce the stories. You're all awesome!


	17. Chapter 17

   I regretted the promise. The week _dragged_. There was never a time in my memory that I didn’t have something to do, like chores, homework, or a job to go to. Even when I had that awful fever in fifth grade, I still managed to wash the dishes while mom was at work. Here I wasn’t allowed anything remotely strenuous. It felt like restless leg syndrome had taken over my entire body, made all the worse by the knowledge that my debt to Garrett had reached an exorbitant amount.

   By the second day I could no longer get comfortable. I tired of all the sick people food Leandra kept bringing up, thin soups and the like. I tired of the window curtains left parted so the outside world could tease me. I tired of staring at the bed canopy and the colors red, gold, and brown. I got so tired that I actually tried to count the threads in the sheets when no one was hovering.

   Did they ever hover. Garrett was a near constant presence. He was always there, lounging in the chair when I slept, tucking my covers in like I was two, and making sure I never missed a potion. The only time he left was when Leandra was there to take his place in the evening, and then he’d be out prowling the city, seeking answers to my attack. I could almost let myself see it as sweet, but my head knew better than to allow that.

   I had plenty of books at my disposal, and while I loved to learn more about this new world, it wasn’t enough to distract from all the serious matters weighing on me, made all the more frustrating for my inability to do anything about them. I’d be four chapters deep when some line would trigger a thought of my parents or the reverse glamour charm or demons and I’d drift off in thought, mood dipping into melancholy.

   Garrett had an uncanny ability to tell. The first time, he plucked the fallen novel from my lap and read aloud, and since it’s Garrett, it became a dramatic reading complete with a movie trailer style narrator and then a wide range of squeaky voices for the characters. His eyes twinkled at my laughter, and he kept going until I had trouble sucking air into my lungs. He eventually let me catch my breath, a warm expression on his face as he watched me, arms resting on his knees. Then that mischievous look came back and he stood, deciding to act out the story. He wrapped his jacket like a bandanna around his face to play a bandit, then pretended to be the hero complete with fencing moves. This made it difficult for him to actually read the text, so there were stumbles and some ad-libbing, but it made it all the more funny and I collapsed across the bed, trying to muffle my mirth.

   Apparently I wasn’t successful because Leandra poked her head in only to find her son in the middle of an impersonation of a mabari. Her eyebrows raised, and without missing a beat, Garrett bowed with a flourish with his free arm, causing his mother to roll her eyes and walk away.

   Later, when I woke from a nap, I discovered him dozing in the chair, no doubt worn out from his late night hunting. The fire had died and the room had grown cool. I was toasty under my covers but Garrett had to be cold and uncomfortable slouched over in the chair with a short sleeved shirt doing little to keep him warm or hide his massive biceps that I knew from experience were every bit as strong as they looked. I crept from my bed and laid one of my blankets around him, tucking in the edges like he had done for me. I smiled at my handiwork, and not just because the blanket conveniently covered his distracting arms; it felt good to in some small way repay his kindness. I studied his sleeping face, the way his dark eyelashes could almost be thought pretty with the way they rested on his cheeks.

   A traitorous warmth blossomed in my chest, and I would’ve cursed but didn’t want to wake him. I took the opportunity presented and tiptoed down the hall for a change in scenery. I almost made it to the end before I was confronted with a growl that hit me right in my lower abdomen.  

   “Get back in bed or I’ll carry you there myself,” Garrett said from the bedroom doorway.

   A delicious shiver went through my body at the thought, and then for a brief moment I considered disobeying him just to find out if he were serious.

   Then I really considered disobeying him, like throwing myself off the second story balcony and praying the resulting head injury would knock some sense into me. I needed to get out of this house as soon as possible. Scratch that. I needed to get back to Earth because despite my plan to create distance between me and three of my very male companions, my body and heart were rebelling against my brain.

   “Mel,” his tone warned.

   I swiftly complied, but not before sticking my tongue out at him as I passed, noting he had kept the blanket around his shoulders.

    This was going to be a long week.  

 

 

   Anders came that same evening to check on me. Garrett teased him in the hall, saying, “If I knew all it took was to have a lovely young woman staying at my house for you to visit, I’d have housed one sooner,” only for Anders to sputter something incomprehensible.

   My smile was bittersweet from within my room. Maybe something good could come from my attack, serving as a catalyst for getting those two oblivious guys together. They’d make a great couple. Garrett would make sure Anders took care of himself and shield him from Templars while Anders would try to prevent Garrett from doing anything too reckless and heal him when he did. It’d be nice knowing when I left Thedas that Anders and Garrett would have each other. I would do what I could to leave the two of them happy together before I left, I promised myself as the aforementioned pair made their way inside.

   Anders’ examination was swift since there was hardly any change in my condition in 24 hours. His trip from Darktown to Hightown was too much energy to expend just to check up on me, which I told him and he brushed off with a wave and a tinged red face. He lingered to ask about my day and laughed at Garrett’s theatrical antics, and then I asked him how the clinic fared and soon an hour passed. I enjoyed his attention, but knew I shouldn’t.

   I tried to maneuver the conversation to involve Garrett and then extract myself from it. Garrett drew him in as I knew he would and I felt a small pang with the way they smiled at each other, wishing they were smiling at me like that too, but I stifled it. Anders faced away from me, so I not so subtly made a fork to mouth gesture and pointed at his back, a hint Garrett didn’t miss. He didn’t need anymore urging to invite Anders for dinner; like me, he wanted our favorite healer to eat more too. Since Anders was already at the estate and the clinic was closed, he didn’t have any good excuse not to stay, though he accepted with surprising quickness.

   I could picture them eating by a hearth, all the duties and responsibilities of the day falling away as the other came into focus. I bit my lower lip as I wondered what they would talk about, how they’d trade glances, how maybe one of them would brush the other when passing a dish, pouring a bottle of wine…

   I opened my book from where Garrett had left off earlier to shut the two out as they made their way to the door, but the words on the page scrambled as their footsteps trailed downstairs. I did not expect the well of disappointment that yawned in their absence. I certainly did not expect them to return with three plates laden with steaming food and a makeshift table, or how I dropped my book and my eyes grew teary at their gesture. But blinking the tumultuous emotions away, putting on a amiable smile, and pretending I didn’t want to expect moments like this for the rest of my life came just as expected.

 

 

   I had a stream of visitors during the first week. Merrill indulged me with Dalish stories as we played cat’s cradle with the ball of string she had previously gifted to help me find my way around Kirkwall (she never did explain how that was supposed to work). Merrill had never played before and neither had I, only having watched kids playing it on the schoolyard. When Leandra brought tea, she discovered us midst our failed first attempt of tangled fingers and gently freed us. She had given me an affectionate pat on the arm and then showed us a modified version of the game she had played growing up, even pulling out additional yarn for us to use.

   Garrett checked in at one point, and maybe I should have felt embarrassed caught playing a kids game, but he plopped down right beside me, asking to join. I tried to partner him with Merrill, but Leandra, with a familiar mischievous look in her eyes, quickly claimed Merrill for her partner, leaving me with her son.

   My throat felt dry and palms sweaty as we weaved our fingers together. He hummed in acknowledgement when I guided him through the steps, but he seemed less intent on playing than he was tracing the lines on my palms, lightly brushing my fingers with his to send tingles racing across my skin. We had to restart our cradle multiple times while Merrill bent studiously over hers with Leandra sneaking peeks over at us.

   Aveline’s visit was short and perfunctory. She had come to speak with Garrett on some matter, but she took the time to say hello before leaving. We hadn’t interacted with one another outside of an official capacity, but I appreciated the effort. She assured me the city guard was assisting in the investigation, and were looking into several different leads. I thanked her, admiring how fierce she looked with sword and shield; I bet she could take down several demons by herself. The ability to not have to rely on others for protection made me intensely wistful.

   In that moment, an idea occurred to me. I asked how I could learn to fight, and the question undoubtedly caught her off guard, but she eyed me with a look that bordered on respect. She didn’t have time to train me herself, she said, but when I was better, I was welcome to come practice forms in the training yard at the keep. I said I would. The prospect of being able to defend myself was greatly motivating, and for the rest of the week, Garrett didn’t have to chide me about remaining in bed.  

   Isabela visited once. She fidgeted, and it was odd to see the swaggering pirate captain uncomfortable. With a little circumspect poking, she eventually admitted that it had taken her longer to roll out of bed than she liked when she heard the crashes downstairs at the Hanged Man having drunk too much and being blanketed by a gorgeous woman. When she had seen the damage done to me, she felt relieved to be the one to run to fetch Anders. I could tell she felt guilty, responsible for me even, emotions she clearly wasn’t used to feeling. Guess I wasn’t the only one dealing with new emotions. I assured her that none of what happened was her fault, and her fetching Anders at Varric’s bidding probably saved my life, so all I could do was thank her.

   She eased somewhat, though just the act of being vulnerable left a residual discomfort, one she masked with a wink. I let her, playing into her meaningless flirting as she recounted one of her latest exploits with two men. I probably looked a little too interested because she teased me for my blushing face, asking if I was thinking of anyone in particular, to which I gave a resounding no. She didn’t look convinced, but she moved on, asking how I liked staying at the Amell Estate and who had been by to visit. I knew she was digging, but there was no gold to unearth, and I didn’t really feel like letting her know that I knew about her bet with Varric despite my pushing the end result in her favor. The conversation ended with her promising to come by again with the promise of a rum flask to spike my tea which she called “that hot herb water you call a refreshment.”

   Varric was the one who brought news of the Hanged Man. Apparently, the building didn’t burn down, and he said he was surprised that I didn’t know considering I had initially been brought up to his room to cool my burns. I told him I didn’t remember much after I passed out, just scraps, and he frowned, obviously wanting to ask me about something but refraining.

   He saw that I was going to press so he sidestepped, inquiring if Fenris had been by instead. He hadn’t, I told him, and his frown deepened. The Hanged Man’s main room had been repaired and was back in business but Fenris had not been by. Varric assured me Fenris disappearing deep into his mansion for days at a time was normal, but his expression told me he thought something was off.

   It stung knowing Fenris’ disinterest that I almost died. If he had almost died, or even if he had just been sick, I would have gone to his mansion with a basket of food on my arm. Deprived of meaningful relationships for all of my life, I was greedy to make as many as I could in Thedas despite my reservations. The painful lesson I was still learning was not everyone was as eager as me to do so. Maybe I just cared more than he did?

   But I couldn’t convince myself of that. Despite the fist-in-chest-thing, he had worked with the others to help fulfill Garrett’s promise to send me home and had saved me at least twice. Maybe we would never be as much as my foolish heart wished, but if he wouldn’t come see me, I could go see him. It was time that I extended some form of proper thanks for all his help, not that anything I could say or do could make up for the gift he’d given.

   As soon as I was off bed rest and found a new job, I’d cook something nice and snag a bottle of red before stopping by Fenris’ haunted house. I could thank him while simultaneously checking up on him, and maybe if I played my cards right, I could get some answers about when the white light came. He had been there both times it popped up, like with the scavenger and the demon.

   I had a lot of time to think this week as I laid in bed, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the white light was connected to the blood mage and demons after me, and maybe had something to do with my parents’ reverse glamour charm. Flemeth had said the key to my father’s dagger, which held the answers I sought, were tied to how I came to Thedas. So now I just needed to remember and find the key. Then finally, I could leave raging demons and warring desires behind, for Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mel will be back on her feet next chapter.   
> Thanks for your patience between updates and your interest in this fic. Have a great May!


	18. Chapter 18

   On the dawn of the eighth day, I slipped on the spare clothes Leandra left out for me: a pair of dark leggings and a tunic. It was white, so not suitable for work, especially with the off shoulder cut and deep neckline. If I leaned over, someone was going to get an eyeful, especially with my full figure. Not that I was complaining. It was kind of cute even if it was impractical. Besides, these were the only garments I had that weren’t burnt, well, besides the frilly nightgown, but I was not going to parade around the house in that.

   I was surprised Leandra owned something like this. I’d never seen her in a dress that didn’t come all the way up to her neck like the rest of Hightown nobility while this seemed to be the fashion of many young women in Lowtown. Maybe this was a spare from Isabela again? That seemed doubtful though since she only visited the one time and hadn’t mentioned it. Merrill? No, too big for her slender frame.

   I faced the full length mirror in the corner. The gray of my eyes were flat like an overcast sky, my pale face thin and lost in the waves of my hair. I tried on the wisp of a smile. Better. At least I was alive, and could pick myself back up and begin again. No demon attack or murderous mage was going to keep me down.

   First step, breakfast. I silently crept down the hall past the bedrooms to the staircase. I hadn’t been conscious when I was brought in, so this was as much of the house as I’d seen. I felt like trespassing, but knew I’d feel more useless if I continued to lounge in bed. The house was grand, what Fenris’ might have once looked like if it had been maintained. I felt small, afraid to touch anything like I was in a museum, but when I discovered the kitchen, the tension left. Here was a place I knew.

   I tied on a bib apron to protect my borrowed clothes then set to work. Once I’d made something for everyone as a small thank you, I could go to the Hanged Man and collect my things, and then begin looking for a job. Oh, and a place to stay. It’s not like I could stay here. I’d taken advantage of Garrett’s and Leandra’s hospitality enough.

   While a different layout from the Hanged Man, I quickly familiarized myself with the place. I was happy to discover that the kitchen was kept well organized and stocked, much like how I had gotten the tavern to resemble after my employment, so I swiftly found the ingredients I needed.

   It’d be nice to have something warm to drink as I cooked. I hummed a tune as I heated the kettle and procured tea leaves from a row of jars. Soon a whistle pierced the air and wafts of steam hit my face as I poured the hot water into the waiting teapot.

   “Messere, I could have gotten that for you!” a dwarf said from the entrance, arms outstretched as if he could prevent me from lifting another finger. I recognized his voice as the one preceding Anders’ first arrival to the estate.

   “Oh, it’s okay. No trouble,” I said, wiping my hand on my apron’s skirt before extending it to shake the blue-eyed dwarf’s. “You can skip the titles with me. Mel is fine.”

   “Bodahn Feddic,” he responded as he shook my hand, brow furrowed. “But mes- uh, Mel, you are a guest. Messere Hawke would not want you to be working, especially in your condition.”

   My __condition__? I wasn’t nine months pregnant or an invalid or knocking on death’s door or something. I mean, I suppose I just came off my week’s bed rest after almost dying but I was doing fine. Brewing tea isn’t something I’d consider strenuous either. I tried to resist rolling my eyes. Leave it to Garrett to be extra.

  “My condition is fine, thank you. Besides, I find cooking relaxing,” I smiled to assuage the dwarf who couldn’t resist nervously ringing his hands. I reached over and and gave a reassuring squeeze, stilling them. “Anyways, I’m sure you’ve had to work extra hard with the increased volume of guests lately, so let me handle it this time.”

   Bodahn ceded to me, though he still looked anxious. Since he was determined to hover, I pitched questions his way as I worked, such as how long he had worked for Garrett and the like, and listened raptly as he recounted how he went on a Deep Roads expedition and his adopted son Sandal got lost, only to be recovered by Garrett. Sandal himself popped into the kitchen midway, only to stare at the loaf of bread I had in the oven, asking, “Enchantment?” before walking to a nearby cabinet to pull out a stack of plates and disappear into the dining room. I called a “Thank you” to the him and got a muffled “Enchantment,” in response. I smiled and returned my attention to the boy’s father.

   “And that’s how we came to be working here,” Bodahn said, wrapping up his tale just as I did the meal. “He’s been a worthy master and it’s been an honor to serve him.”

   “That sounds like him,” I said, wishing for a moment that I could work at the estate too. The pace of the place was slow and steady, the area clean, and the people much more pleasant company than the Hanged Man’s. But it seemed Bodahn and Sandal had everything well in hand, so there was really no need for me.

   Oh well, it would have been weird to work here with the underlying tension I have going with Garrett and the other two who I was sure would be around. Best to keep it all separate.

   At the thought of them, all appetite left me. The prospect of sitting at their fine table, Garrett being Garrett and Leandra giving me knowing looks, seemed unbearable. I heard movement upstairs from what must surely be them waking.

   That decided me. I put the apron back on its hook and asked Bodahn to serve breakfast without me, promising to return later in the day to clean up the mess in the kitchen. He simultaneously tried to assure he that he could clean the kitchen himself before sputtering to stop and then trying to ask me why I wasn’t staying for breakfast. I smiled and only said, “I have some errands to run,” before I snagged an apple and slipped it into my pocket before slipping myself out the back door.

 

 

 

   The early morning sun greeted me, and some folks dressed much finer than me leisurely strolled across the cobblestones with no clear destination in mind. One of the many perks of being nobility. I had no time for dawdling even though it was too early for the Hanged Man to be open for business. I could still swing by and see about collecting my things. By that time, the stalls should be open and I could begin seeking work.

   I walked briskly, the freedom of movement sweet. Even the musk of the city didn’t dampen my lungs’ joy to breath outside air. Kirkwall had its dangers lurking, but with the sun on my back and a light breeze playing with my hair, it felt impossible for any of those shadows to reach me. I happily bit into my apple as I made my way to Lowtown.

   It wasn’t until I made it to the Hanged Man that some of my elation fell. The door wasn’t battered enough to be the old one. Inside, the stairs didn’t sag in the center from decades of wear, but for the first time, looked sturdy. Not just the tables the demons had destroyed but all of them had been replaced. The new ones looked as strong as the old, but they lacked the character of patrons carving their names into the wood. Even the floorboards were freshly sanded. The Hanged Man actually looked a notch closer to respectable. I felt like I no longer belonged.

   “Mel? Is that you?” Norah called down the new stairs. “Andraste’s blessings, last time I saw you, you were a hairsbreadth from the Maker’s side.”

   She flitted up next to me, then her smile turned upside down. “You’re not back to work are you? I don’t know how to tell you this, but after what happened with the …incident and then not knowing if you were coming back…”

   “It’s okay. I figured I was fired. I’m just here to collect my things.”

   “Oh, wait right here,” she said, eyes to the floor as she disappeared to the back, returning with a familiar burlap sack in her arms and my rusty sword.

   “Thanks,” I said, attaching my sword to my belt before peeking inside. The clothes smelled of smoke but they would be usable. I could wash them along with the dress when I returned to Hightown before returning the dress to Leandra. I reached inside the pockets for the coins—a handful of coppers, two silver and the one precious sovereign Fenris had tipped me—but pulled my hand back empty. “Norah?”

   Norah refused to meet my eyes. “We didn’t know if you were coming back. At first Corff was so enraged at the state of the place he almost garnished everything to help for the repairs, but then your rich friend Hawke came and he covered everything. That satisfied him. More than that really. As you can see, the place practically looks new.”

   She took a deep breath, the next words spilling out in a rush. “I figured you were dead or if not dead you had Hawke to look after you so wouldn’t be empty-pocketed for long, and see, my sister, she’s from Fereldan and she tried to rebuild after the Blight but there was nothing there for her anymore. She spent the last of her money to get to the Free Marches but the gate guard wouldn’t let her in without ‘the entry fee’ being paid and I almost had enough to cover it, so I-I borrowed the remaining portion.”

   “Oh,” I heard myself say even as the lightness of my bag grew heavy in my hand. “I didn’t know you had a sister. What’s her name?”

   “Marta.” Norah winced and looked up to gauge my expression, which I felt had frozen blank. “Listen, as soon as we can, we’ll pay you back.”

   I didn’t bother to comment on that. I knew I wouldn’t be seeing a single copper from her. Instead, I looked around the tavern’s renovations, noting all the improvements. Of course Corff didn’t manage this himself; he’s stingy. With a flick of his wrist, Garrett had just covered everything like it was nothing. How the hell was I supposed to pay him back for this on top of everything else?

   The urge to rip the white tunic dress off my body right where I stood was so strong my hands shook. I wanted to ask to use the backroom to change into my old clothes, smoke scent be damned, but the garment would only get mussed in the sack and I couldn’t return it damaged.

   “And my dagger?” I asked when I realized the money wasn’t the only thing missing.

   “I had to sweeten the deal. The guard seemed really interested in it when he saw it, so it was that or…well the other option wasn’t an option at all,” she said as if recalling some awful memory.

   “It was a masterwork,” I said. “It was my father’s.”  

   “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

   I bit back a growl of frustration. “Who was this gate guard?” I had to get the dagger back immediately. If that man rid himself of it and the trail went cold, I would be lost in this world with no clue how to get back to mine.

   “Guardsman Wright works the dock gates, but forget about him. He’s not a scrupulous person. He’s not going to give it back out of the goodness of his heart.” She hunched her shoulders as she rubbed her arms. “He’s rather…cree-”

   My pulse sped. “I’ve got to go,” I said, and spun for the door. I heard Norah call after me, but I embraced the white noise of the Lowtown market coming to life as I made way for the docks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Meant to update sooner but I've been battling a lingering cold. Glad to get this out :) While cooking is Mel's therapy it's writing for me.
> 
> A warning on the next chapter: it will get kind of dark and will feature some content that some of you might find triggering. It's what I'd consider canon-typical violence which I already have tagged, but that's pretty broad and I think we can all agree that the DA universe can get really dark. So, I will put a much more specific warning in the notes at the start of the next chapter when I post for those who want to read it, and for those who don't you should be able to swiftly scroll past the note without getting spoiled. I'll also look at updating the tags too. I hope that can accommodate everyone. While I write this fic for me I do want the reading experience to be a good one for all :)
> 
> And now that I've stressed everyone out about what is coming rest assured that though this story will at times be dark there are some lines I might toe but won't cross. 
> 
> Until next time...


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION READER: THIS CHAPTER FEATURES CONTENT THAT SOME MIGHT FIND TRIGGERING
> 
> The tags are updated. If you'd like to know the specifics, keep reading this note. Otherwise, feel free to scroll ahead and read the chapter.  
> *  
> *  
> *  
> *  
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> This chapter will have misogynistic language, graphic violence, PTSD, and an attempted sexual assault (assaulter won't get far, and in fact, will get Hulk smashed as he justly deserves).

   I had originally planned to look for work as soon as I retrieved my belongings, but now it seemed that errand had evolved into a crisis. The whole trip to the docks, I visualized my blade in my mind. It was my only connection to my father, my only hope of answers. There was no way I could leave Thedas without it.

   The place was quiet. All fishing vessels had departed in the predawn hours, and trading and passenger ships had already unloaded, their crews having made their way into the city. People stood in line to have their papers processed, anticipation and anxiety radiating from their bodies. There were three guards wielding the power of these people’s hopes: a bald man who rummaged through an old woman’s bag as she watched with a resigned air, a brunette man who scanned the passengers like they all rested on a scale, and a blond who leaned against the wall as if he couldn’t be bothered with it all. The last one drew my gaze: my dagger was sheathed on his belt.

   I tilted my chin up and strode forward. “Guardsman Wright, I presume.”

   Wright straightened. “Well, hello there.” Ice chip eyes trailed me foot to face, then traveled back down to rest on my cleavage. “You can presume all you like.”

   I cringed. For all the damage the reverse glamour charm had caused, there were times I missed being near invisible. I shifted as if I could shake off his unwelcome gaze but kept my voice steady. I wouldn’t let him shake me.

   “I’m here about my property. A woman gave you that dagger as payment, but it was never hers to give. It’s an important piece given to me by my father. Could you return it please?”

   “I can’t be returning things every time someone experiences seller’s remorse, you understand. That would be a poor way to run a business now wouldn’t it?”

   “I wasn’t aware safekeeping the citizens of Kirkwall was a business,” I said through gritted teeth.

   Wright wasn’t fazed by my thinly veiled disgust. Instead, his eyes grew strangely hooded. “Oh, but it is. At least for the more entrepreneurial of us. And I must say, I’m quite attached to my new blade and am not inclined to give it up. But I am a reasonable man, and am open to being persuaded.”

   He waved his hand to the shadowed courtyard off the side of the gate, indicating that we should discuss business there. I hesitated for a moment, trepidation twining around my spine, but I followed slowly, mindful of the armored man clanking before me. The bald guard didn’t spare us a glance and the brunette watched us leave with the same measured gaze; apparently Wright deserting his post mid-shift was normal. How far did this corruption fester?

   Once we were well away from the gate and out of sight, he stopped. “So, how shall you pay me?” The question sounded more like a bored formality than a genuinely curious one. There was a keen interest in his eyes which made me think he already knew what he wanted. I didn’t know what that was, and wished he’d get to the point, but I would perform this negotiation dance with him if it meant I’d soon hold my father’s dagger again.

   I rested my hand on my rusted sword’s hilt, the feel of it comforting. “I have no money to pay you, but I am prepared to work for the return of my dagger if that’s what you require.”

   His lips quirked as he pulled off his gauntlets. “I think we can come to an arrangement.”

   I breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. What would you like in exchange? I can clean, and I’m an excellent cook. I can run errands or do other odds jobs too. I’m quite versatile.”

   “I’m hoping you are,” he said as his lips shifted into a leer. I took a half a step back at his expression then stiffened at the feel of his hand palming my breast.

   “Wha— Get off!” I smacked his hand away.

   He chuckled, the sound making my stomach churn. “I knew I had you pegged as a feisty one. You’ll be fun.”

   “Keep your ‘fun’ to yourself. I’m here for my blade, nothing else,” I hissed, hugging my arms as I stepped back. So this was the other option that wasn’t really an option Norah had mentioned. Any residual anger at her for using my things as bargaining chips fled.  

   “If you want that blade, you’ll have to get acquainted with mine first,” he said, closing the space between us, hands moving to free his lower half.

   My eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare. Unlace those breeches and I’ll go straight to the guard captain and report you.”

   “You think the captain would care about some penniless waif like you? Not a chance.”

   My eyes flicked to the way I’d come. The people in the main courtyard were so far away. If anyone could even hear me, would they come? Or would they look at the guards at the gate standing between them and a better fate and leave me to mine?

   Well, fuck fate.

  “Aveline would care about me or anyone else she knew her guardsmen were trying to take advantage of in the name of the city guard,” I snapped, my hands dropping their hold on my arms to curl into fists.

   Wright’s face paled at my name drop. An idea came me then.

   “Actually, here’s how it’s going to work,” I said, taking a step toward him, one hand fingering the pommel of my sword. “You give me my dagger back and I don’t report you. Unless, of course, I hear you try to proposition another woman or try to scam some other poor refugee coming in.”

   The man’s face twisted with fury. “No one threatens me, especially not a city rat like you!”

   The clink from his armor shifting warned me of his swing before he moved, and I instinctively ducked out of range. He left himself wide open, surprise written on his face when his fist didn’t connect with my cheek, and I didn’t hesitate to deliver a brutal kick to the tent in his pants, which going by his howl, also came as a surprise. Huh, guess all that Kirkwall stair climbing had finally given me those calves of steel I wanted.

    Wright dropped to his knees, curses streaming. Hunched over, clutching at his nether regions, my dagger stuck up invitingly from the back of his belt. I darted in, unsheathing it in one swift move, and darted away again, breathing hard.

   “I’ve changed my mind. I’m definitely reporting you. I hope you get kicked off the guard and can’t find work. Hell, I hope you get kicked out of the city. Kirkwall doesn’t need creeps like you,” I said as I began backing out of the secluded courtyard, dagger held at the ready.

   Half a dozen paces away, when I was sure he wasn’t getting up to follow me, I spun to head out, but before I could breath a sigh of relief, metal hands gripped my shoulders and threw me to the ground like I weighed nothing.

   The world spun so it took me a moment to make out the brunette guardsmen towering above me. “Really Wright? Must you be so noisy with your game?”

   “Bitch knows the captain, Garth,” Wright grunted.

   “A pity. Such a waste,” Garth said, eyes appraising me like one would a race horse. “Well, you can still make use of her if you can stay discreet.”

   Hair raised on my arms. For a moment, I almost didn’t believe the words Garth spoke, because how could anyone be so cold? I wasn’t even human to them, just a thing to be used and discarded. Even as I scrambled to my feet, he turned away as if I no longer existed.

   “You scum lords! What the fuc—

   My view tilted sharply as Wright slammed into me. My head cracked against the stone and stars clouded my vision, the morning sky impossibly far away. A heavy weight suffocated me, metal points pressing into my flesh. Then they were removed, replaced by a fist straight to the stomach. I heaved, eyes bulging.

   “That’s for the kick, you cunt.”

   A hand wound its way through my hair, dragging me to my knees. I felt a scream writhing in my body, wanting release, but my lungs wouldn’t work properly.

   “Not so talkative now, are you? Never mind, I have something better planned for your mouth. After all, you still have to pay me,” he said, other hand moving to his laces.

   Somehow I had managed to keep a hold of my dagger and my senses, so I twisted, trying to stab at him. He caught my arm with ease, taking hold of both wrists in an iron grip and holding them above my head. No matter how hard I tugged, I couldn’t loosen his hold. He squeezed, and I had to let the dagger clatter to the ground or he would have snapped my bones like twigs.

   If Merrill were here she’d electrocute him in his armor, then drop a manifested stone fist right on his head. Isabela would say something sharp before wetting her knife’s edge with the blood from his throat. And Aveline, well, the guards wouldn’t have dared mess with her in the first place, but if they had made that mistake, she’d undoubtedly crush them.

   But no matter how hard I twisted and tugged, I couldn’t break free to go for the dagger on the ground or the rusted sword on my belt, not even manage to get my feet underneath me. I was completely at his mercy, and he knew it.

   His eyes were cold fire as he looked down on me, his smirk revealing a chipped tooth that gave him a vaguely vampire look. Or maybe that was just because he looked like he was about to eat me one shredding bite at a time like the undead literally would’ve had they gotten the chance, except this was way more terrifying. This wasn’t an unthinking monster holding me in its grasp. Anyone can be scared of what’s under the bed, but I learned long ago that the worst monsters are those who pretend to be part of society and then turn on their fellow humans, especially those who are in a trusted position. I should know.

   Wright leaned in as I tried again to desperately wrench myself from his grasp. “That’s it. Keep struggling. You’ve no idea how hard it makes me.”

   “Put your thing anywhere near me and I’ll bite it off,” I barely managed to rasp. My lungs were on fire.

   “Only if you don’t want to smile again, because I promise you, you won’t have the teeth for it,” he said, tracing his fingers down my jawline, a mockery of a tender touch.

   Maybe so, but he’d be a eunuch with missing fingers, I promised myself. I held onto that, focusing on the way his fingers approached my lips, to keep the panic from wresting control. It felt like a flock of wings testing the breeze in the center of my chest, preparing to take flight; when they did, I’d lose myself in the rush of white and wind.

   But in the space of a broken breath, I looked deeper. Nestled under those shuddering feathers of fear was something else, something white. It was no more than a ember until my desperation breathed on it, my rage and helplessness kindling, and in a second it was stoked to a surge of energy, tongues of flame licking panic’s edges. In another moment they’d be wings of fire, and when they took off, it wouldn’t be like a flock of startled birds but ashes heralding a wildfire. The first sparks of energy were already rising up my ribcage, ready to be exhaled, ready to free me, as if I might fly into the sky and leave my body behind.

   But Wright grounded me, cutting off the flame’s oxygen when his hand dropped its hold on my hair in exchange for my throat. It was a light touch but it was enough to petrify me with memory of eight years ago. The flame sputtered, and I didn’t understand what it was to begin with, so in my inelegant attempt to grasp hold of it again, I stamped out the remnants. With it, my strength, as if coaxing such a flame had burned my reserves.

   Now I had nothing left to fight the ice solidifying my veins, wanting to form over my nose and mouth, suffocating me. If he squeezed tighter with the one hand, or forced himself inside with the other, the flock of wings would burst forth, and like spring ice, I’d crack. If only my ice could thicken, like a glacier lake’s, then I would be several feet below, numbed to what happened above.  

   Maybe I already had. I didn’t notice the people enter the courtyard, not until there was a roaring blur hurling Wright into the wall.

   I collapsed onto all fours, the solidity of the ground beneath me seemingly unreal.

   But it was.

   Immediately I patted the ground until my fingers wrapped around my dagger’s handle. I lunged to my feet, but nearly doubled over at the pain in my abdomen, and stumbled as a wave of dizziness hit me.

   “Mel!” Anders caught me in his arms and I gave into his touch as my limbs trembled then gave completely. He didn’t let me fall, lowering us both down. One hand went over my forehead, leaning me back against his chest, the other hovering lightly over my abdomen, a swirl of blue magic concentrating there. Adrenaline leaked from my body, leaving me hollowed and cold, especially where the energy had first awakened inside.

   “You’re injured,” he said in a broken voice, like it had been him who had been pummeled instead of me.  

   “Where?” Garrett snarled. He held Wright up by his hair like the man had done to me only a moment before, his face a mess of blood and bruises.

   “Stomach, lungs,” Anders rattled off, not even bothering to look up at the pulp Wright was beginning to resemble, gaze intent on me.

   Garrett plunged his fist repeatedly into Wright’s stomach, growling like he wished his hands were claws that could rip out his innards, not satisfied until the guard coughed up blood.  

   “Hawke,” Anders said, finally flicking a glance in his direction before reverting back to me. “You’re killing him.”

   Garrett gave him a look that said he couldn’t be damned to care but released the guard so he could topple. I couldn’t even make out Wright’s icy eyes; they were already swollen to slits. Blood dribbled from his mouth to form a small pool, and there in the middle of it was his chipped tooth knocked right out.

   Now he looked as monstrous as he was inside. Still, I’d rather see buckets of dismembered spider legs than look into those eyes again. Hell, I’d rather bathe in the spider’s guts rather than feel Wright’s touch on my skin again. Just the thought of his hand at my neck made me feel nauseous.

   “Gonna be sick,” I whispered, all the warning I could give before rolling over to retch. Anders reacted quickly, supporting my weight so I wouldn’t slide into my own vomit. He rubbed my back in soothing motions, healing magic erasing the ache, letting my breath come back fully. Once the trembling stopped and he was sure that I wouldn’t be sick a second time, he eased me upright, passing me his water skin to rinse my mouth.

   After he placed the skin back, he grasped my arms to help me up and then Garrett was there, helping us both. I pushed past their arms to stand on my own, knowing I was supposed to create distance but unable to recall why at the moment.

   I felt like I was walking underwater, everything slowed down and blurred, only small points coming into focus. A lone sparrow chirped as it pecked at the ground before fluttering off. Some kind of gray-green moss grew on a pillar, the only touch of color marring its sandstone blankness. The musky Kirkwall air tasted the same as it had earlier when I first left the estate, but some part of me was convinced that it should feel different.

   Steel glinted in my hand. I quickly sheathed my dagger, realizing I had been death-gripping it the whole time like a frightened child would a favorite stuffed toy. My legs trembled, and I internally reprimanded them to stop impersonating a new born foal’s, but they were rebellious.

   I swallowed as I looked between Anders and Garrett, not knowing what to say or what to do. Only once before had I ever felt so lost and I did not want to think about __that__. I wanted to lighten the situation with a joke, wanted to pretend this never happened, wanted to scrub my skin until it couldn’t recall his touch on my body. More than anything, I wanted to hug these two so close they could never leave me, but I knew better than to do that.

   I didn’t have to decide. Garrett swooped me up bridal style. I made a sound of protest in the back of my throat but he wasn’t hearing it, the intensity of the moment driving him forward. Garrett always moved with the strength of an ocean, his currents pulling the rest of us along, but today he wasn’t a riptide or even a maelstrom: he was tsunami. I let him catch me up, let the smell of cinnamon, leather and his distinct musk wash over me with my head tucked against his collarbone. He carried me at the crest, kept safe above his frothing fury at the world. Eventually we’d have to hit land. Would I drown then? Even now, I resolutely blinked back my own tidal wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm me, focusing on my hands against the white of my dress, the skirt now dotted with blood, like a sailor would pick a point on the horizon.

   “Oh, your dress is ruined,” was the first thing I could think to say.

   “Fuck the dress,” Garrett said, not even bothering to glance at the damage I knew I’d have to pay back later.

   There was a whir in the air followed by a clank. Wright had dragged himself to his knees, one arm outstretched from throwing a knife; it hadn’t come close, but even still, Anders had knocked it aside with a whirl of his staff.

   “What’s so special about her? She just a fucking whore!” Wright screamed.

   The poison of his words were lost to me like footprints to a high tide, removed from the world as I was in Garrett’s arms, only the volume truly penetrating, which was impressive, really, considering his damaged midsection.

   Anders’ staff came whizzing down, cracking Wright across the skull. Splayed on his back and wheezing, the man looked stunned. I didn’t hear another word from him, only watched what little of the whites of his eyes peeked through his puffed flesh grew as Anders’ feet straddled him.

   Anders’ bottom half was shadowed, but the mid-morning sun had begun to slant into the courtyard’s tight corridors to illuminate his upper half, the effect effervescent. In that moment, the healer I knew was gone, replaced by a being out of legend, a warden facing down the dark.

   “She is everything, and you are nothing,” he said solemnly, like a judge meting out justice. He brought the end of his staff down, crushing the man’s windpipe. Wright jerked once then stilled, and I knew without asking that he wouldn’t rise again.  

   “Thought you didn’t want to kill him,” Garrett said as the being walked out from the morning light, becoming Anders once more.

   He ran a hand down our arms before angling to lead us out. “Never said I didn’t want you to. Only observed that you were.”

   For the second time, I had seen a man die, and yet, I felt distant, like watching actors in a play. The Mel from a month ago would have been appalled by the violence and my current lack of a reaction, but this Mel only wanted to close her eyes and ground herself in the scent of Garrett and the reassuring touches of Anders.

   I wanted to hide my face in Garrett like a kid who just woke up from a nightmare, but I knew the monsters would still be there on waking. Not all of them had disappeared. I craned my neck to search the main courtyard, but Garth and the bald guard were gone.

   “Were there more?” Garrett asked, as if he could read my mind.

   “Yes. Garth, brunette. Bald one, too. Don’t know his name,” I said, the words taking great effort.

   Garrett ground his teeth. It was a wonder he had any left at all.

   “I’ll find them,” he promised. The look in his eyes left little doubt that he would.

   “You need to tell Aveline,” Anders said quietly. “She needs to know.”

   “I will tell Aveline. But I will also find them,” Garrett said. “They’ll wish I hadn’t.”

   Anders didn’t object. He kept both hands on his staff as he scanned the streets as we moved from the docks into the heart of Lowtown. I knew if any guards matching my descriptions were spotted, they’d be paralyzed before they ever came within striking distance.

   No one did, though more than a couple people stared at us as we passed. The three of us probably did look strange: a bedraggled man with a staff accompanying a Hightown noble dressed in armor carrying an equally bedraggled woman bridal style. After a lifetime of anonymity, each stare felt like an invasive touch.

   “Garrett, I can walk.” I wiggled a bit to emphasize my point, even though I wasn’t sure if my legs had actually given up their rebellion. When the point didn’t get addressed, I pointed out the obvious. “They’re staring.”

   He didn’t even break stride, simply pressed me closer, his touch saying, “Let them” as Anders moved to walk in front, shielding me like he so often did from things unpleasant.

   The tension ebbed. I was able to shut my eyes and push every stranger’s face out. I breathed in Garrett’s scent, relaxed my body into his protective hold, knowing that neither of them would let a thing touch me. I let myself savor the feeling of being held, of what it might be like to be cherished. He cradled me like he could never tire of it, and I wanted to pretend that he never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guardsman Wright isn't a creep in the game as depicted here though he isn't anyone to hold in esteem. If you play the quest where Hawke, Aveline and his family are trying to get into Kirkwall, he's the one guarding the gate. He compares the refugees desperately trying to get in "a midden's heap" or "refuse climbing the walls," which made me not feel at all bad speculating what he might do if given power to leverage over those who have considerably less. I really made myself hate his guts as I wrote this chapter. I will never experience the arrival to Krikwall quest the same way after this.  
> This is actually only the first half of what was supposed to be one chapter when I was initially drafting. No joke, together it's almost 10k, which was getting ridiculous. So I tried to find a good place to cut it off which wouldn't result in a big cliff hanger and this is what I came up with. I'll be busy shaping up the other half in the coming weeks to get it out. Till next time!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning is over. This chapter is a deep breath and a decompression. There will be emotions and words and realizations.

   I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I was aware of was Bodahn exclaiming, Scrapper excitedly yipping, and Anders softly calling my name. We were back at the estate, already on the second floor.

   “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, in full healer mode.

   Garrett gently set me down, hands remaining even after I found my feet. For a moment, I could imagine he was as loathe to let me go as I was for him to, but I knew it had to be only wistful thinking on my part, so I stepped away from his touch.

   As Anders led me to the washroom, Garrett looked torn, like he wanted to follow but also wanted to put his fist through the wall. He began to pace like a caged animal, like he had only been able to contain himself before by concentrating on carrying me back. If Leandra were here, she’d fear the demise of her carpet.

   Anders looked back at him, deciding for him. “I’ve got it here. Go to Aveline.”

   Pulled from his raging thoughts, he nodded quick, then spun to head down the hall. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked back. His lips parted, eyes widening as they took me in, starting at the hem of the white dress and ending at the shoulders partly concealed by my tangles of hair. He had that distant look mom would wear when I’d ask about father, and I knew he wasn’t seeing me. But then his hands rested on the handles of his twin daggers, as if grounding himself, and his eyes went to my face and something changed in his.

   In a second he was back at my side, sweeping me into a crushing hug. It wasn’t comfortable being pressed into his armor, but it was comforting. His hold was solid and warm and protective and nothing like the way Wright pressed his body into mine.

   A moment later Garrett let me go, eyes memorizing me like when I woke after the demon attack. His hand came up to cup my cheek, no mockery of a tender touch, but I still blanched, my skin recalling the feel of Wright’s fingers. Garrett’s eyes narrowed, hand dropping. He took a deep breathe, balling his hand into a fist at his side, like he held someone’s neck in his grasp. I could guess whose.

   To Anders, he said, “I’ll be out until it’s done. Can you stay until I return?”

   “Of course,” Anders said.  

   To Scrapper who had come over to lick my hand, he said, “Don’t let Mel out of your sight. Where she goes, you go.”

   “Garrett, I’m fine. It’d be better if he went with you.” My heart dropped in my chest as the memory of Garrett slamming into the cavern wall came to me again. I don’t think that’s something I could ever forget. If something happened to him or anyone in an effort to protect me, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself.

   “No, Mel, I don’t think you’re fine,” he said, and as I opened my mouth to argue, he cut me off with a shake of the head. “Besides, it’ll be more dangerous for me if I’m distracted worrying if you’re safe. It wouldn’t surprise me if you climbed out a second story window because you felt compelled to do Maker knows what.”

   “I wouldn’t climb out a window,” I said. Obviously I would go out a door.

   I didn’t say the last part, but apparently we were on the same wave length. He looked back to Scrapper. “Make sure where she goes is restricted to the estate.”

   Scrapper barked in the affirmative.

   My arms crossed in front of me. “You can’t do tha—

   “I can and will. Don’t test me on this,” he said, voice gone deep as the barely contained fury from before loosened within. The tsunami had found shore. “It’s only been a week since you woke up from nearly dying by a demon and you slip out in the morning without telling anyone where you’re going. It’s fortunate that we guessed you might have gone to the Hanged Man and Norah was able to tell us where you might have gone next. If we hadn’t, Mel…” He wiped his hand over his face as if he could wipe away the horrific possibilities his mind conjured up. “Andraste’s ass, Mel, where is your common sense!”

   “Hawke—” Anders began.

   I might fall from the crest but I wouldn’t drown.

   “My sense is just fine thank you very much. And for your information it wasn’t like I went out for a stroll. Norah had given away my father’s dagger! You know, the one that holds my only hope of understanding how I got to be in this insane situation where demons and other creatures that shouldn’t exist want to kill me! So I did what needed to be done,” I snapped back, the familiarity of this argument not lost on me. It began back in the caverns. I should have known it had only been buried, not forgotten.

   “But you didn’t need to do it alone! You could have asked for help!”  

   “Enough!” Anders shouted as he stood between us. As a hand came to rest on each of us, I realized I was shaking. “This can be discussed later, when everyone is calm. This is not the time. Hawke, just go,” he ordered, voice cool.

   Garrett took a deep breath, and for a moment I thought he was going to launch into a tirade again, but he nodded. This time he walked away and didn’t look back. I sighed and sagged against the wall as all my anger evaporated, leaving the hollowed and empty feeling from before.

   “Come on,” Anders said, though his voice remained cool. The hollowness I housed expanded, building a new addition to accommodate not only Garrett’s anger but Anders’ too. Garrett, used to leading our companions and living as a powerful man in Kirkwall, was unsurprisingly a bit pushy. I, who had spent most of my existence doing everything solo, naturally pushed back. This fight with him, while more heated than I imagined, had been simmering for some time. I never meant for Anders to be pulled in though, and his cool anger at Garrett and I pinched my insides as the new additions pushed up against my ribcage.

   Anders opened the bathroom door and I followed, Scrapper trailing, apparently having taken his master’s orders to heart. Anders touched a dwarven rune etched into the wall and steaming water began to fill the giant tiled tub built into the floor. He reached for one of the vials lined up in an alcove and added a few drops, and soon lavender scented bubbles began to multiply across the water’s surface. As he sat a towel by the bench within reach of the tub, he turned to leave. “I’ll go get you a change of clothes, and then I’ll be waiting right outside the door in case you need me,” he said.

   I didn’t respond as ice began to work its way through my veins, starting at my feet. The heat and the bubbles were all so innocuous but the water kept me from moving forward. Instead my hands bunched into the dress’s skirt, Garrett’s distant face circling in my mind.

   “Mel?” Anders said from the door once he realized I hadn’t moved.

   “Whose dress was this?”

   He let the door swing shut and came to stand behind me. “Bethany’s.”

   I closed my eyes at the answer. The haunted look on Garrett’s face made so much more sense. I couldn’t resist asking, “How did she die?”

   “I wasn’t there. It was before we met, before Kirkwall. Aveline was there. She had just lost Wesley. Hawke told me they were running from the Blight; it had just claimed Lothering. Before Flemeth came, they were surrounded by darkspawn, and yet still holding out. There was an ogre, and Bethany tried to face it alone. It crushed her.”

   A sharp intake of breath. Mine, I realized. My hands went from skirt to mouth, trying to stifle a sob, but this heartache of someone I cared for broke through where all my own stress, worry, and fear never did. __There are things you think you can face but you can’t,__ Garrett had said in the cavern but I hadn’t listened. __But you didn’t need to do it alone! You could have asked for help!__ he had shouted like he must have wanted to at Bethany in his grief but had to settle for the woman wearing his dead sister’s dress.

   My hands were not enough, and the words poured out. “I’m sorry,” I said to Anders, who placed his hands on my shoulders, to Garrett, who couldn’t hear me.

  “Mel,” Anders turned me toward him, a softness erasing all trace of the coolness from before. His thumbs brushed away the tears threatening to spill from my eyes, the ones that I had been blinking away ever since I got swept up by my Kirkwall companions who had been consistently upturning everything I knew about relationships by their acts of openness and kindness. “You don’t have to apologize. What happened today wasn’t your fault…and Hawke…he was wrong to say those things in the way that he did.”

   “I know it wasn’t” I said, though I internally cringed. I had become so focused on my dagger I ignored every red flag waved right in my face: Norah’s warning, the way Wright looked at me like I was a thing, going off to a secluded place with a stranger alone…I should have known better. I did, but it was the kind of knowing I never had to apply before. On Earth, while the reverse glamour charm had prevented me from forming lasting relationships, it had kept me from ever having to worry about unsavory sorts zeroing in on me. But here I was in a different world I didn’t entirely understand, the protective charm gone, and demons after me, and yet I was still trying to live exactly as I always had before. After the Dog Lord leader got grabby with me at the Hanged Man, it should have sunk in, but I didn’t let it.

   This morning I hadn’t even thought to tell Bodahn where I was going, and even if Wright hadn’t attacked me, I could still have run into whoever sent the rage demon after me. Someone tried to __murder me__  and yet I ran off alone with a rusted sword that I didn’t even know how to use properly. It pissed me off to admit it, that Garrett had at least a fraction of a point, or that I had to acknowledge my own lack of power to defend myself beyond a brimming white fire inside me that I had no idea how conjure up let alone control. Sure, I could tussle like anybody, but I had no real weapons training and everyone in this world seemed to be capable of a dozen ways to kill a man. Not to mention all the monsters. I was way over my head.

   It went against every ingrained tendency to rely on anyone else but I had to if I wanted to survive in this world long enough to get back to mine. That was my reality and I hated it. It left me feeling exposed and vulnerable, to be in the hands of someone else. It was hard for me to put that much trust in anyone, and not just because the reverse glamour charm had prevented me from making those relationships, but because the last person I had trusted so intimately had betrayed that trust in the worst possible way. The memory made me sick now, a feeling that grew all the more acute when I gazed at the now filled bathtub. I closed my eyes to block out the memory, but even still, goosebumps flooded my skin.

   “Mel.” Anders put his forehead to mine and instantly the torrent of negative thoughts stopped and my eyes opened. Gentle hands cradled my face, making me look him in the eyes so I could read their sincerity. “It wasn’t your fault.”

   Those eyes, so warm and sure, promised me that he believed every word he said. I couldn’t help but believe him too. I nodded, and he caressed my hair like I once had for him at the clinic all those weeks ago. He stepped back to give me my space but my eyes continued to hold his.

   “You’re right, it wasn’t.” This time the words came easier and I felt my heart lighten a fraction. Just because I lived in a world where I had to be strategic to protect myself from people like Wright, didn’t mean that if I got caught in their twisted machinations that I was weak or at fault. The ugliness of others wasn’t a reflection of me.

  “When you’re both calm, you and Garrett should talk.”

   I nodded again, knowing he was right. Garrett had his tender spot and so did I; they didn’t blend well together but that didn’t always have to be the case. We could eventually come to an understanding, but right now we were too volatile yet vulnerable. I didn’t know what I would see in Garrett’s face when I saw him next, but I couldn’t bear to see that guarded look again from when he first met me, just as I couldn’t pretend I didn’t understand his pain. Really, when it came down to it, we were upset with each other because both of us took unnecessary risks; he put himself in dangerous situations to protect others because he was scared of anyone he cares about getting hurt while I forged ahead on my own so I wouldn’t have to involve anyone else and risk them hurting me.

   I bit my lip as I recalled the coolness in Anders’ tone as Garret and I snapped at each other earlier. I hesitated for only a second before laying out the rest. “What about us? Should we talk? You seemed angry too.”

   The moment stretched, and anxiety started building accommodations right where my lungs used to be. I thought Anders might simply brush off my comment, but he looked down at his hands as if seeking answers in the remaining moisture of my tears.

   “I’m not angry with you,” he said so quietly I barely heard him over the water running in the pipes and the hiss of steam. Then he looked up, and shook his head decisively, voice gaining strength. “I’m angry at the men who attacked you. I’m angry at the system for allowing blatant corruption to exist so the powerful can prey upon the powerless. I’m angry with myself for not coming to your aid quicker.”

   My lips parted in surprised. “Anders, that’s hardly fair—

   He shook his head, determined to take everything on now that I’d opened it up. “I am angry at myself, because no matter what any of us do, you don’t really trust us. One moment you’re there, smiling and sharing and engaging with everyone and the next you’ve withdrawn yourself to a place we can’t reach. I know you’re not used to having friends from what you told me before—and I can only imagine how your parents’ charm might have affected you on Earth—but I had hoped after our talk outside Kirkwall that you might come to see that you could trust us.

   He sighed. “And there I go, being selfish. I know, I need to earn your trust. I can’t lay the responsibility at your feet. But I want it Mel. Hawke and I, we want you to know that you can always come to us if there is something wrong. Hawke and everyone else, despite whatever differences we may have, have always reliably covered each others’ backs, which is what has kept our group knitted together all these years. But you’ve never had that, have you? It terrifies me to think of you going out to face some of the horrors out there on your own, the kind no one ever should. ” One hand gripped the fabric above his heart. “And, it aches to know you don’t realize you don’t have to do any of it alone.”

   “I—” I began, the words clotting in my throat. I wanted to tell him I trusted him. I trusted him and Garrett and Fenris and all of them more than I had allowed myself to trust anyone for years. Not since my mother, the only person I had ever truly been close to who tore down my tower of trust in a day with her hands, revealing the fissure I had ignored. I didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to distrust everyone though it had taken me years to realize this, but I was still clearing the rubble away so others could lay down a foundation for me to trust in. If anyone had been setting the cornerstones, it was Anders. If there was anyone I could see someday inviting inside, it would be him. And yet, the memory of my mother’s tower I had built with her still shadowed me. Sometimes I thought I had escaped it, but the day would lengthen and the shadow would always stretch to reach me like grasping fingers catching the words in my throat: I trust you.

   Anders didn’t look surprised that I had been unable to finish the sentence, only sad. It was an expression I hated seeing on his face.

   “I want to,” I whispered, knowing them to be true. I wanted to trust them. I wanted to wake up in the morning without the sliver of fear that this might be the day that their goodwill towards me runs dry. I wanted to believe that I wasn’t simply a burden secretly tolerated. I wanted to believe that no one else kept ledgers in their head, measuring whether I’m worth the trouble. I wanted to believe I wouldn’t wake up one day to a cold shoulder, or worse, a hand at my neck. I wanted to believe that I was enough.

   “I’m glad,” he said, and kissed the top of my head.

   I shivered in response, breath catching in my throat. I wanted to tell him everything, all of it. Now wasn’t the time, but I knew that someday I would.

   “You must be freezing,” Anders said as he rubbed my arms, mistakenly attributing my reaction to the feel of his lips pressed against me to some remnant of shock. He walked over to the bath and sent a spiral of magic to heat the water again, and while normally I’d have been like a kid on Christmas to see such a display of magic, the sight of the water had a dampening effect.

   But it gave me an idea of where to start with Anders when he turned back to me with an expectant look. “Are you okay?” he asked, the question layered. I could take it as shallowly as I wished.

   I stared at the water, willing myself to step forward. “No,” I admitted, unsure how deep I meant it.

   He grabbed my hand like he was so fond of doing. Gently he turned me so he could look in my eyes. “You’re scared of the water.”

   My eyes widened. How did he know?

   “After the attack, once I arrived at the Hanged Man, Fenris rushed out of Varric’s room. But before he left, he told me to get you out of the water. Then he fled. I’ve never seen him so unsettled. But when I walked in you had briefly roused. I haven’t seen someone so terrified in a long time. I had to put you into a magically induced sleep immediately so you’d let me near enough to get you out.”

   Did they try to put me in the tub to cool me off from my burns? Did I panic? That would explain the collage of memories I recalled from what came after my attack. What had I done in those moments that sent someone as unflinching as Fenris running? The pit swelled in my stomach. Is that why he hadn’t been around?

   “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

   “I suspected, but didn’t want to pressure you into sharing more than you’re comfortable with. I still don’t but it doesn’t sit well with me to leave you alone like this. If you want, I’ll stay with you. I’ll be here every step of the way,” he promised.

   While my feet remained frozen my chest blazed. Anders was so precious. How did he even exist? In a world of horrors, he stood up for others, giving as much as he could. More than I should have ever accepted, and more than I could ever hope to repay. All I wanted was to pull him into me, protect him from all the world’s injustices, and carry him with me always.

   I settled for grabbing a fistful of feathers on his front. “Okay.”

   He must have understood my feet’s refusal to cooperate. He scooped me up, and I braced my hands on his chest, startled by the lean muscles my healer was hiding underneath his layers of clothes. I blushed and ducked my head, hoping if Anders noticed he’d attribute it to the steam. I snuck a peek at him as he lowered me to sit by the water’s edge. It was a plausible explanation, right? His face was red too.

   The tile was cool under my skirt, but the heat from the water wafted over me, a reminder of its presence. My hands felt clammy and I wanted to grab onto Anders again, but I didn’t want act as needy as I felt.

   Anders sat right beside, boots and stockings gone. He wrapped his arms around his knees and stared off across the room for a full minute before speaking. “I’m scared of enclosed spaces.”

   “Really?” My voice came out louder than I expected, echoing on the tile. It was hard to picture Anders or any of them scared of anything. They faced down horrors that would send most on Earth screaming while I was incapacitated by a bathtub.

   Anders studied the water before him, looking a bit sheepish at my incredulous tone. “Yeah, well, I used to not be that way. As a kid I once hid in my mother’s hope trunk when playing hide and seek, but now, just the thought of cramming myself into another small space, even for a game, makes me sick with nerves.”

   “What changed?” I asked, voice softening.

   “Many things changed, first being my discovery of magic. I was taken to the Circle and was never allowed to leave, not to see my family, not even to feel the sun or rain. Just seeing stone above day after day instead of limitless sky made the reality sink in, that these thousands of feet I occupied would be the extent of my life. Some mornings I woke struggling to breathe. If it weren’t for Karl… I had to get out. Desperately. I did multiple times. I was determined that no walls would keep me, at least not forever.

   “But the Templars would catch me no matter how far I ran—they had my phylactery so they could always find me even if I crammed myself into the smallest corner of Thedas—though they eventually grew tired of chasing and doling out punishments that wouldn’t penetrate. The shaming, the extra duties, the beatings, none of it dampened my drive, and the separation from Karl had the opposite intended effect, stoking my desire to get out even more. There was only one thing I feared more than being kept within the Circle itself, and so the Knight Commander ordered it, hoping it would break my ‘willful’ spirit. I was locked away in a deep cell where only the light from under the door illuminated my prison, isolated from all contact; even the Templars guarding wouldn’t speak to me.

   “I lost all track of time. The gruel they stuck through the door slot was my only system of measurement, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that they didn’t serve meals on a set schedule. If being able to feel my ribs through my skin was my only indication I’d have known, but I confirmed it at one point early on, occupying myself by counting the hours till when my next meal came; several times it was longer than 24.

   “I reviewed lessons and recounted facts and histories of Thedas to keep myself sharp. I tried to dwell on every happy memory I ever had, but soon found they ran dry. I learned to hate the quiet. Even the sound of rats scurrying became welcome. I sang bawdy, off key tunes just to hear a voice, but it was never enough. I told jokes in hopes I might hear a laugh from the other side, at other times baiting my jailers in hopes that they would anger enough to yell at me, smite me, anything.

   “When none of that worked, I begged the Templars to speak to me. Call me an abomination, tell me I’m forsaken in the Maker’s sight—I didn’t care. I just needed to hear some voice other than my own. I couldn’t even tell where my thoughts ended and my spoken words began. Everything streamed together. The only company I had were the demons who called for me, offered me ways out, if only I would just let them in. I denied them but they wouldn’t cease. At times I was tempted, if only so they could help me cease to be, because anything would be better than the never ending nightmare. But I knew what they offered would only be another prison, and their ways out did not give me what I truly wanted: freedom.”

   “Anders,” I gasped, feeling tears of shock sting my eyes. I blinked them all back, refusing to let them trail. This wasn’t about me. This was about him. And yet, without letting myself think about it, I crawled into his lap and threw my arms around him, unsure if it was more to comfort him or me. I just needed to hear his heartbeat, feel his warmth, smell his rainstorm scent. I couldn’t bear the thought that this precious person might have been extinguished.

   “How did you escape?” I whispered against his neck.

   He hugged me close, burying his face into my hair. “I didn’t. After a year, they finally let me out.”

   “Oh Anders…” my hands rubbed small circles on his back. They wanted to ball into fists and lash out against the Templars who hurt him, who stole years of his life. More than anything, I wanted to reach inside and take away his pain.

   I knew then, what he had done. He had bared one of his most vulnerable and painful memories, not because he wanted sympathy or because someone pressed him, but because he had seen a familiar pain in me and wanted me to understand that I wasn’t alone.

   We sat like that for a time. It felt like hours, a time I didn’t want to end, but it must have been only a few minutes. He sat up straight so he could look at my face, brushing my mussed hair behind my ears. His eyes, sad yet peaceful, studied my face, searching.

   I felt seen in a way I never had before. I wanted him to understand everything he made me feel, how he moved me with his words, actions, and kindnesses. I wanted him to know that when he had faced down Wright and called me everything, despite being unable to believe it myself, I knew that he did, and that meant everything to me.

   My eyes dropped to his lips. It was like a madwoman had taken my brain hostage; I wanted nothing more than to kiss him despite that being listed in the book of “Worst Ideas Mel Has Ever Had.” And yet, I tilted my head, leaning in slightly, slowly, as Rational Mel screamed in the back of my head and tried to wrestle Mad Mel for the controls.

   I don’t know if left to their own devices which of the Mels would have come out on top of that fight, and I don’t know whether Anders would have realized my impulsive intent and turned away, because suddenly a splash of water drenched us.

   Anders wiped the water from his eyes. “This is why I prefer cats,” he said with a pointed look to Scrapper who guiltily paddled to the far side of the tub in water still swaying from his cannon ball.

   I, on the other hand, could have kissed him. Scrapper, not Anders, though I suppose I almost did that too. I was cold, and not just because I was soaked and sitting plastered onto Anders’ lap. That splash was enough for Rational Mel to resume control, and while she had already shut off the alarm, it didn’t escape me how close I had come to disaster. I had almost destroyed the distance I had so painstakingly tried to keep.

   I scrambled off him, quickly reminding myself that just because I wanted to learn to trust Anders and the others didn’t mean that I could just start kissing people and screwing up their relationships, especially since I wasn’t planning on sticking around. I would ruin everything. I had just been alone for too long, that’s all, that’s why my brain had short circuited into thinking about acting on my feelings. I knew better.

   Since I was already soaked, I didn’t give it a second thought. I slipped into the tub, the prospect of being too close temporarily more terrifying than the water. My skirt billowed around me, weighing me down, and I immediately began to shrug it off, not wanting my movement to be at all hindered.  

   The cough from behind me reminded me I wasn’t alone. My face flamed and I was glad that my back was turned.

   “Uh, let me go get both of us a change of clothes,” Anders said to which I swiftly nodded in embarrassment and he squelched out the door.

   My heart thudded in my chest at his departure. The tub might as well have been an ocean with hidden depths where sea creatures lurked, waiting to pull me under. I closed my eyes and took deep breathes. I wasn’t going to drown in a bath tub, no one was going to push me under, and the water couldn’t come alive and eat me. I was okay. I would be okay.

   Scrapper swam over and nudged my palms, somehow knowing I needed him. I burrowed my face in his neck like I did after the undead attack and found it just as comforting. I felt the remnants of my own anger at Garrett slip away with the steam. He had been right to leave Scrapper with me. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. None of them would.

   With my pulse thrumming, not letting myself consider what I was about to do, I plugged my nose, death-gripped one of Scrapper’s legs with the other, and submerged. I counted to three then opened my eyes, watching a string of bubbles escape. The sound of my heartbeat was amplified underwater, but other than that, it was quiet. The water swayed from my movements, the world above bending with the filtered light.

   As a kid, before the incident, I had enjoyed swimming, floating on my back to stare at the sky, or to investigate the other blue world below. I had written over those memories with ones of fear. But they came back now like a long awaited high tide. There was the cottage by the water, just like in all my memories before, but clearer this time: swirl patterned shells and glimmering rocks buried treasure in the warm sand, hair dancing across my vision from a cool breeze, small toes tickled by the surf. I was so little, the water so immense, yet all I felt was wonder. The world was infinite and so was I—there was no room for doubt or fear. So as a child of no more than three I held my breath and went under, just to glimpse another world.  

   The memory drifted away with the last of the air in my lungs. I could stay under if I truly wished. There was no one holding me down but myself. I wanted to surface, to find that Mel from many years ago. She was still with me; she was the one who was awed by magic, the one who stood up to powerful Kirkwall nobles without fear, the one who faced down undead to save her friends.

   Let her breath.

   I emerged with a gasp, sucking in a lungful of lavender tinged air. I wiped the water from my face so the room could come into focus. Even if my mind willed it, my limbs still trembled with suppressed fear. Yet, I decided, it would not rule me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer than expected, but it also turned out to be longer than expected, ending up as more than 6k, so I hope the wait was worth it <3


	21. Chapter 21

   Garrett never came back. I had stayed up till long after Bodahn, Sandal, and Leandra were all asleep, seated by the fireplace in the parlor. Anders, true to his word, not only had found us each a dry pair of clothes, but also stayed by my side as promised. Even though I wasn’t tired, I could tell he was and so I feigned sleepiness and went to my chambers. I remained seated by the window watching the dark street below until it brightened with morning and heard the others stir to start the new day.

   I helped with breakfast, this time not peppering Bodahn with questions which caused him to eye me when he thought I wouldn’t notice. He initially protested my help but I was stubborn and he didn’t press any further. Maybe my face revealed too much of my emotional exhaustion but I was too drained to try and repair it.

   Garrett didn’t return for breakfast either. Anders popped into the kitchen where I served him a heaping helping. He would need his strength at the clinic. Surely Garrett would be back before midday so he could still make use of the day?

   But he wasn’t.

   I washed the dishes right after breakfast and Anders pitched in without my asking. Poor Bodahn wrung his hands but I needed something to keep me busy and Anders wouldn’t leave me alone. I was used to him being chatty but he only said something unless I directly addressed him, obviously preoccupied with something. Likewise preoccupied, we passed the morning in mutual solitude. When midday rolled around and Garrett hadn’t come barreling through the front door, I was prepping to scrub the floors since Anders and I had already organized the pantry, inventoried the cellar, and swept the hearth and cleaned out the flume, spotting both of us in soot. Only then did Bodahn put his foot down and usher us out.

   It had been for the best. Not having slept and only picking at my food left me exhausted, so much so I didn’t have the energy to work myself up when I took another bath. Just a quick dunk and a rub down with soap and wash cloth. I only hyperventilated slightly. Afterwards, I situated myself in the parlor, my wet hair draped over the armrest facing the fire, myself facing the entryway so I’d know as soon as Garrett got back. It was with that thought I finally fell asleep.

   I woke with a scream. Mine. Hands gently gripped me. Anders.

   “You’re okay, Mel. It’s only a dream. Only a dream,” he said, honey-brown eyes staring deep into mine, centering me. I took a deep breath and nodded. He let me go, still sitting on the edge of a cushion, watching me. Scrapper whined in the back of throat and nudged me into petting him. I sat up, glanced around before returning my attention to him. It was definitely only a dream.

   “Want to talk about it? I have some experience with nightmares.”

   I had dreamed of Wright, only this time he shoved my head underwater and held me there. I heard voices as I struggled: Anders, Garrett, Fenris, Varric, Merrill, Isabela, and Aveline, and yet none of them came to save me. As my lungs screamed for air, they left, one by one until there was nothing with me but the encroaching darkness.

   My most intense fears all rolled into one. I knew they were lies, but knowing was one thing, and believing another. If I was dreaming about these things, some part of me still believed and still feared. I had decided to change, but it didn’t mean I needed to face it all at once. It would take time.

   “I know it was only a dream. A fairly unlikely one at that. I’ll be okay,” I said. My eyes strayed to his chest. I recalled the warmth and comfort I had found there the other day. I wanted it again, but I resisted the urge to lean toward him.

   “You will,” Anders promised, squeezing my arm before moving away, as if somehow knowing I needed the space. I gave him a slight smile in return before I settled back down. The room was dim, no more natural light coming from outside, only the fire illuminating. Nighttime then. I must have slept a long time. Garrett still wasn’t back. I didn’t want to think what could be keeping him, didn’t want to think about what dangers he might face.

   With an ache in my chest I twisted where I laid to no longer face the entryway but the fire, to see what shapes I could find in the dancing flames. The images flickered, a nonsense story that I spun anyways until I completely lost the pattern and the fire dimmed.

   And then I saw the rage demon. It came barreling at me like before, but I wasn’t in the Hanged Man. I wasn’t even in the mansion. The walls twisted into white, faintly lit by the flaming monster sweeping towards me, scorching the linoleum floor.

   Linoleum? Earth. I was back. No, a dream.

   A memory.

   Stunned, rooted to the spot, I watched it come towards me as it roared its incomprehensible language, nearly masking a woman’s voice yelling for me—my mother. I couldn’t make out what she said as I screamed. I startled awake, a name on my tongue, but it slipped from my mind like sand through fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter this time. Next one will be longer, and then after that one, we'll finally get to see our favorite glowing elf again. So chapter 23 then? I'm so excited for it!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote ahead and polished it up sooner than expected so here's the latest chapter early. I don't remember the last time I updated within a week. Probably won't happen again for a while. Happy reading!

   Even though I was itching for some chore to keep me busy I resisted scratching, knowing that whatever I did Anders would feel duty bound to help. I didn’t need to compound my guilt from keeping him from the clinic by working him to the bone here. I spent hours idle in the parlor, pretending I was absorbed in a book as he scribbled away on some parchment, deep in concentration. I was thankful he had something to do otherwise I would feel the need to interact, and every time we did the almost kiss would decide to host an instant replay in my head—not conducive to holding a conversation without blushing.

   I smiled at a particular piece of dialogue, imagining what ridiculous voice Garrett would adopt. I tried and failed to read the novel normally. I couldn’t help silently laughing as his over the top interpretation bled into my perception of the story. Eventually I stopped trying, losing myself in thought as I absently scratched Scrapper behind the ears.

   That’s when the front door finally opened.

   “Garrett!” I called, already halfway out the room before Anders could set down his quill to follow.

   In the entry, Leandra smiled like a cat who had caught a bird. I slowed my step as if I hadn’t just hollered her son’s name across the house like a kid would Santa’s on Christmas morning. Her smile remained knowing, and with a twinkle in her eye, she beckoned several people laden with packages inside. She whipped off her gloves having just come in herself from being about town and began ordering the people to take the packages to my room. That last part took a moment to sink in.

   “Uh, Leandra, what’s going on?”

   “Come on up and you’ll see,” she said much too pleasantly as she strolled up the steps.

   I looked at Anders who met my gaze with a shrug.

   “I have a bad feeling about this,” I muttered as I trudged after Garrett’s mother. Anders didn’t follow, either because he knew I would be perfectly safe upstairs with Leandra and Scrapper or because he knew whatever she had planned, it would be the equivalent of jumping into a garbage compactor.

   As I walked into my chambers to see garments strewn over every available surface, I knew it was the latter. I certainly wasn’t safe with Leandra, not with the mischievous glint in her eyes. I would have marched right back out but Scrapper had decided the doorway would be a good place to park his bulk. I scowled at him; taking her side was he?

   “Oh, don’t make that look. You’ll give yourself wrinkles,” Leandra said as she selected one dress and then eyed me.

   “You’re giving that dress wrinkles. All of them actually.”

   I ran my hand down one with the intent to brush an invisible wrinkle out, only to slow my descent at the feel of the silky fabric. What kind of thread count did this little number have? It must have cost a fortune. As I held it up in front of me for a closer examination, I realized that the dress’s length matched me perfectly. Leandra’s smile widened.

   I tossed the dress down. “No.”

   “I hadn’t suggested anything yet.”

   “That’s because you went ahead and did what you wanted to anyways.”

   “Oh please, who wouldn’t want a whole new wardrobe?”

   “I already have clothes,” I said. It was bad enough that I had been borrowing her dead daughter’s things. I couldn’t let her buy me a whole new closet of clothes.

   “No you don’t. The only clothes you had came in a burlap sack that was smoke damaged and were wrapped around a rusty sword. I threw them out.”

   “You what?”

   “No one should wear something like that unless they meant to clean chimneys, which by the way I heard you’ve done anyways, so there really was no need to keep them around. No guest of mine should be forced to wear rags like that or feel like they must clean their host’s home, so consider this compensation.”

   I folded my arms. No one in the history of Thedas had ever been so handsomely paid for such minimal services rendered.

   Leandra’s smile softened and she touched my arm. “I know I might have gotten a bit carried away, but it’s been so long since I’ve had the opportunity to help dress a young lady, not since…”

   Bethany. Not since Bethany. I swallowed and snapped up the dress I had tossed. “I suppose I could try on a couple things.”

   She brightened. “Oh really? Thank you for indulging me in this. Now, we must select a dress for the Frederick’s dinner party in a week’s time.”

   “The whose?”

   “Oh the Frederick’s. They’re Kirkwall nobility. A bunch of pretentious boors really, but it’s tradition to go every year. Everyone who thinks they’re everyone will be there and it would be so nice to have someone with a broader mind keep me company for the evening. You will come, won’t you?”

   “I-uh” Leandra fingers flew around me, unlacing the back of my dress to help me shrug on the new one. I didn’t quite know what to say. I didn’t want to disappoint her and she seemed to be looking forward to it. Maybe in this way I could pay back her hospitality. “All right.”

   “Wonderful!” she clapped her hands together and spun away to give me a shred of privacy to slip on the other dress. I watched her from the corner of my eyes as she preoccupied herself by peeping out the window, that smile of hers returning as she gazed. I didn’t get a chance to analyze that because she was back, surveying the way the dress fit.

   “Hmmmm…a little bit should be taken in here. Otherwise, it hangs well. Not exactly the right style for the Frederick’s though…” She plucked another dress from the pile on my bed, a ball of fabric she swiftly shoved at me. “Try this one. I’ll go fetch us some tea. I’ll be right back.”

   I stepped in front of the mirror, fingering the seagreen silk floating about my body. I looked like some woman of the water who had been washed up with the waves with my tangle of hair and stormy eyes. With the scooped back and the way the fabric accentuated my curves, I felt exotic. Leandra certainly had an eye for beautiful things. And a really good seamstress.

   Somewhat regretfully, I slipped out of the dress and carefully folded it to set on the dresser. I didn’t bother to look over the new dress, simply shrugging it on. At first I thought there was a rumple or snag in the fabric, but then realized that the dress was meant to have see-through lace with delicate embroidery artfully covering up all the important bits. The bodice traced my form before gathering into a pool of cascading layers of skirts. I reached behind me, struggling with the hooks on the back, but froze as I caught my reflection.

   The woman who looked back wasn’t me. She couldn’t. In the silver dress, she looked like a crescent moon, mysterious and elegant. With the faint scar by my eyebrow and my cool expression, even a bit dangerous: the dress turned storm gray eyes into masterwork steel.

   There was a sharp inhale of breath. It wasn’t mine. I caught another pair of eyes in the mirror, a familiar brown that had none of its usual twinkle, only heat.

   “Garrett.” I turned to the open door, my own eyes drinking him in. There was patches of dried blood on his armor, but he held himself with an ease. Not his then. My next breath came easier, but I still felt wired, strung. I wanted to unclasp every piece, to ensure with my hands he was okay, solid and whole before me.

   “Mel,” he said, and from the way his gaze held me, for a moment I could almost imagine he wanted the same.

   “Could you help me with this?” I asked of the hooks I couldn’t attach, apparently all thumbs in his presence.

   He crossed the room, hands pushing my hair over a shoulder, his fingertips trailing my spine as he slowly snapped each hook. His gaze met mine again in the mirror.

   “Thank you,” I said, face catching fire from his eyes and my own impulsive invitation. With his breath hitting my neck, all the words that had been piling up over the last two days had no form. I didn’t know how to thank him for saving me, didn’t know how to tell him I was relieved to have him back safely, and didn’t know how to broach the subject of our last interaction. I studied the embroidery on my bodice. Where was Leandra when you needed her? That tea was taking an awfully long time.

   “I found both of them, Garth and his other accomplice, Jon. They won’t be hurting anyone again.” His hands found my elbows, a hesitant touch, like he was apologizing for bringing up their names, their memories, and calling to mind the violence that likely followed their discovery at his hands.

   I nodded at his words. I didn’t need to know if that meant they’d been stripped of weapons and rank and kicked out of the city or if they were dead, only that no other person would ever come to Kirkwall seeking a new life only to find a nightmare at the gates.

   “Aveline pursued the leads I uncovered but the corruption hadn’t been allowed to fester long. It wasn’t widespread. Cleanup up was…quick.”

   I turned to look up into his face, noted the lines of fatigue and strain around his eyes. My hands found his arms in return, the grit of dirt rough under my palms, his armor cool against my skin.

   “Are you okay?” I asked. That’s what I needed to know most.

   He slowly exhaled, as if he had been trying to hold himself in and only now could he begin to let go. I didn’t know how to interpret that and my grip tightened in response, but where there had been a heat in his eyes before, there was only softness.

   “I’ll be okay,” he said, and a grin slipped onto his lips as he finally took in the mayhem of the room. “Will you?”

   I groaned. “I had no idea she had planned this. She just showed up with all these boxes.” My cheeks heated at how I must have looked to him when he walked in: like a little girl playing princess with her mother’s things. They didn’t fit me, not really. I waved a hand at everything. “It’s too much.” It was all too much.

   I moved away from Garrett to compose my face, gently folding the seagreen dress as if I planned to pack it away and return it to the seamstress. Of course I was planning to return it. The dinner at the Frederick’s aside, I had no use for so many glamorous dresses. All that money wasted on me…there were so many more important things to spend it on, like Anders’ clinic or maybe setting up a soup kitchen in Darktown…

   Garrett followed, oblivious to my maneuverings for personal space. He shook out the dress I just folded and held it up to me, like he was deciding if the color complimented my skin tone. “It’s exactly right.”

   My brows furrowed. He dodged the underlying issues with a compliment. “No, it’s __too much__. We should return these. This is enough to burst two closets, let alone one. I don’t want to know how much all this cost but I bet I could live off it for the next decade in Lowtown.”

   Garrett’s brows rose and lips twitched, making his next words unmistakably glib. “Count it a blessing that the Maker has been merciful so that you do not fully comprehend your misjudgments on Kirkwall’s social echelons, but starting as a refugee and ending up a nobleman, I am qualified to contradict you on both points.”

   He strolled over to several packed boxes as if he were a lawyer presenting evidence to a jury. “All of this would be the equivalent of half a closet for a debutante’s season in Kirkwall—

   “I’m not a noblewoman making a debut, Garrett.”

   “—and the money for the dresses wouldn’t sustain you for a decade in Lowtown—

   “Garrett—”

   “—but it would feed the seamstress in the alienage and her family for the next several years if she budgeted right, though I expect once you’re seen about modeling her handiwork to Kirkwall’s upper crust, it should generate a steady stream of business to carry her into old age.”

   My demands to return the dresses were swallowed. Garrett’s eyes twinkled. He knew he had me.

   “Oh, and look at this! I don’t know many noblewomen who would have training leathers tucked into the back of her closet.”

   My eyes snapped to the garment he held in his hands. Those looked similar to the ones Fenris and he wore! And the other items in the box looked to be more of the practical, everyday variety too: tunics, breeches, leggings, and work shirts.

   A smile snuck onto my face. Leandra really had taken my feelings into consideration after all.

   The smile just as suddenly slipped off. All the clothes seemed like a lot for a single seamstress to make on such a tight time frame. And how did Garrett know to open the box and find the clothes he knew I’d approve of unless…

   “Leandra didn’t order all this. You did.”

   Garrett froze like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. “Well, technically, I didn’t order them. I suggested that you might need some clothes to my mother and she ordered them.”

   “But she’s only just met me. There was no time for her to take my measurements and have the seamstress make all this.”

   Garrett messed with one of the straps on his bracer. “She may have swung by the Hanged Man after a visit to Gamlen.”

   “I can’t believe I didn’t notice.” Leandra was such a refined lady. She’d have stood out in a place like the Hanged Man.

   “My mother spent years living in Lowtown and even more living on the run with my father. She’s clever; she knows how to blend in.”

   Speaking of clever, it’s awfully convenient that the alleged tea is taking so long.

   “I can see where you get it from,” I said as I crossed my arms. “So when did you ‘suggest’ buying me half a debutante’s wardrobe?”

   He sighed, realizing I wasn’t going to let it go. “After the first day.”

   I blinked at him.

   “I couldn’t let Isabela keep dressing you. I don’t think she understands the concept of pants.”

   That first night at the Hanged Man I had felt so overwhelmed by Garrett’s generosity: buying my meal, offering to help me back to Earth and even wanting me to stay with him until he could deliver on that promise. I had tried to limit my debts to him and all the others as much as I could, getting a job at the tavern for food, board and tips, and yet he had already been planning on how he could help me further.

   It really was too much.

   “Garrett I can’t— 

   He brought a finger to my lips. “Objection overruled.”

   “But—

   “While I admire your fiercely independent nature, it comes with its own set of problems, namely, being unable to accept help when you need it. So, for as long as you’re living in my home, there’ll be no ‘Oh no I couldn’t possibly, Garrett’ or ‘Let me pay you back by being your live-in maid, Garrett’ or ‘ Don’t worry about me—I’ll get a job as a chimney sweep,’ ” he pantomimed.

   “I wouldn’t,” I began but dropped my protest at his raised eyebrow. Okay, so maybe I would do that—I already basically had—but it was still hyperbole. Sort of.

   He tugged my hands from where I had them folded in front of me, studying their fit in his for a moment before speaking again.

   “Mel, we haven’t known each other long, but I get the impression you’ve been going it alone for some time. I see when you push us all away, like you don’t know any other way, but I want you to know you don’t have to live like that anymore. Not here, not with me. ” He leaned his forehead against mine to look me in the eyes, causing my breathe to catch as he whispered, “Let me help you. Let me in.”

   His words were reminiscent of Anders’ plea for my trust. In his own way, the last time we spoke, he had said the same thing, only I hadn’t been willing to listen. It was hard to believe that they all could mean it, that I could put my trust in them.

   I furiously blinked back the tears that threatened to overwhelm me, instead saying what I promised Anders: “I want to.” I closed my eyes, recalling my promise to myself to let the old Mel breath. “I will.”

   The twinkle in his eyes transformed into something far warmer. “Good,” he said, and leaned in so close I was breathing in his exhalations, almost as if he meant to—

   I jerked away, blurting, “On one condition!”

   Garrett, bemused by my obvious fluster, closed the gap again. “Which is?”

   My eyes darted towards the strewn wardrobe. “Don’t let all this collect mothballs. When the time comes, please make sure the clothes are donated or sold and the money put to a good use, like funding for Anders’ clinic.”

   Garrett grew very still. “When the time comes?”

   I gave a nervous laugh. “It’s not like I can take them with me. I won’t have much use for ball gowns on Earth.”

   I took a few steps backwards, and my heart fell slightly when he didn’t follow. His eyes did though, but the warmth from a moment ago was gone, replaced by the shields he wore when he first looked at me from across the clinic.

   “Of course,” he said, giving me an affable smile that was all Hawke the Hightown noble, not Garrett, my protector and friend.

   I mumbled something about checking on the tea and fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flirting and banter and angst rolled into one. Delicious. Garrett is so much fun to write, I swear.   
> Next chapter: Fenris, finally! And we'll finally get a glimpse of Mel's past.

**Author's Note:**

> I primarily wrote this fic because an original character grabbed my imagination a year ago and wouldn't let go, so here we are. I plan to see her story through. This will be a long fic, and I have a good chunk already written and more outlined, so I should be updating frequently.  
> Thanks for giving "Finding Home" a chance. I hope you enjoyed. If so, please leave a comment and let me know. I love interacting with other Dragon Age fans. I can also be reached on my Tumblr violetiris-ak.


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